


Dirty Water

by Acai



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Breaking Up & Making Up, Child Neglect, Death, Dorks in Love, Drunken Kissing, Falling In Love, Fighting, Fluff, Happy Ending, Holidays, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Making Out, Not Canon Compliant, Prom, Romance, School Dances, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Trans Michael Mell, Underage Drinking, boyf riends — Freeform, but damn does it get intense, but it's good, i mean it's a sarcastic jerk, it's just two boyfs falling in love the hard way, it's not as sad as it sounds, the squip is good, timeloop AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2018-12-11 09:57:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11712027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acai/pseuds/Acai
Summary: Jeremy’s first mistake was downloading content from an SD card he received from Rich Goranski in a public bathroom. His second mistake was ignoring the advice that it gave him.[A timeloop AU in which Jeremy receives a computer chip that can rewind time, a notebook filled with rules from his past self from a timeline he can't remember, and six chances to save Michael.]





	1. September 12th

**Author's Note:**

> This work was on an extended hiatus for several months, but will now be regularly updated like before. Thank you to everyone who stuck around for the rest, and to everyone who's just now coming along for the ride.

 

 

> ** Dirty Water **
> 
> Available also on: [Tumblr](http://aobajosighs.tumblr.com/post/163821534022/dirty-water-boyf-riends-timeloop-au) || [Wattpad](https://www.wattpad.com/451373786-dirty-water-boyf-riends-timeloop-au-part-one)

            Jeremy had never liked dodgeball before—not even when he managed to go a whole game without getting hit. He wasn’t _good_ at it; he was just good at running from things that would probably hurt if they hit him in the face. And yet he managed to find himself in the same corner of the gym every Friday morning, because even if he sucked at dodgeball it would always be better than socializing in the hallways for thirty minutes during their ‘reward’ of a half an hour of free time.

Dodgeball wasn’t hard if you didn’t try. If you didn’t throw anything, nobody would chuck something back at you with a bloodthirsty vengeance. And if you didn’t act afraid, nobody would target you just so they could see the fear in your eyes. So Jeremy didn’t try. He shuffled out of the way of things flying in his direction and gradually scooted further and further into the corner until his presence was forgotten. It wasn’t too hard.

It was times like this when Jeremy wished he’d picked up a friend or two more along the way in his middle school days. It hadn’t occurred to him back then that he might ever need more than just Michael—and he really didn’t—but it would have been handy to have _somebody_ on his side at times when Michael was off in the parking lot so that he wouldn’t have to do either activity. Jeremy wished he had the guts to do that, too.

The skinny kid to Jeremy’s left let out a pained grunt as a ball rammed into his gut. He made his way to the bleachers with a hand on his stomach, scowling at the other side of the court. Jeremy’s eyes followed his line of vision across the white line to—who Jeremy assumed, anyway—threw the ball.

Rich Goranski may not have been very tall, but he _had_ torn a metal pop can in half that morning just to prove that he could. Jeremy didn’t think it was very promising that he was staring right at him, hand still in an I’m-definitely-the-one-who-just-assaulted-that-geek-with-that-dodgeball shape.

Jeremy swallowed, inching his way along the wall and past the gym teacher.

“Bathroom,” he lied, pushing open the door and sliding out into the hallway. His fingers traced along a scratch that ran along the wall while he walked, face flushing when he noticed one of his shoes was untied. Did anybody else notice? Was it obvious? Why could his dumb shoelace shove his heart up to pound in Jeremy’s throat like that?

“Your shoe’s untied,” a girl called from the other side of the hall, tacking on a mumbled, “geek.”

It was obvious, then.

Jeremy slipped into the bathroom, hands stuffed into his pockets and fingers pressing against his legs. He took a rattling breath in and slid down the wall as he exhaled. His knees tucked up to his chest as he let his head fall back onto the wall with a dull _thud._

Twelve more minutes and then he could go to calculus and tell Michael his morning was uneventful the way that he always did. Twelve more minutes and he could…walk down the halls with another untied shoelace, probably. The sound of the bathroom door clanging open and smacking against the wall made Jeremy’s head snap up. He raised his gaze up to meet Rich’s, then dropped down to the paper bag bunched up in his fist.

“Uh…”

“My eyes are up here, lover boy,” Rich huffed, jerking the bag out of sight.

Jeremy pushed himself off the ground, swallowing hard. “I’m going to go—,”

“You’re going to stay right here until I’m done talking, actually.” Rich leaned against the bathroom door, raising his eyebrows at Jeremy’s expression. “What? You can go hang out with your nerd friends when I’m done talking. You looked pretty curious about the bag.”

“I--um, I don’t really care, actually, so—,”

“Sure you don’t. What, do you think I’m going to sell you drugs? Don’t answer that,” Rich shifted, leaning forward as much as he could without having to look up to meet Jeremy’s eyes. “This is a whole lot better than drugs, Jeremy. This is going to change your life.”

Jeremy stared past him, intending to focus his gaze on the writing on the wall behind Rich until he could leave.

_Elizabeth P is an easy one-nighter. Dustin is a cock block. Mary has a good mouth._

“Do you want to know what’s in the bag, Jeremy?”

“Not particularly—,”

“Do you want to _know_ what’s in the _bag,_ Jeremy?”

Jeremy’s fingers drummed against his legs. “I…I guess?”

Rich’s face lit up into a grin, eyes narrowing. He slid his backpack off of his shoulder and stuffed the brown paper bag inside. “Meet me here after third period. _Then_ I’ll show you what’s inside the bag.”

Jeremy’s heart was in his throat again, this time beating with a vengeance. “Why…why after third period?”

“Just say things once, Jeremy, we don’t have all day. I have a free period fourth. I don’t care if you’re late to fourth or not, but I’m not going to get a detention for this shit. If you wanna know, come. If you don’t, go to class.”

Jeremy’s eyes slid back over to Rich’s. His hands were tucked into his pockets and he was slouching against the wall again, but his eyes were scanning Jeremy’s face. Whatever he was planning, he was eager for Jeremy to show up to it.

Whatever he was planning, Jeremy was _not_ eager to show up to. What if it was just one big humiliation scheme? What if he _was_ planning on selling drugs, and the passing period before fourth was the best time to do it?

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Jeremy shrugged, sliding his hands into his pockets and feeling his face heat up when he realized he was just copying Rich’s own pose. “Yeah, um…I’ll be there, I guess.”

“You guess? Don’t just guess. Do it. Cause trust me, dude. You’re gonna want to know.” He jammed a finger into Jeremy’s chest. “This is going to make or break your entire future.”

He left, shooting Jeremy one last grin and letting the door swing shut after him. Jeremy’s heart stopped its violent percussion music and returned to its rightful place. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

                Michael was aggravated--that much was obvious. He wasn't usually the type of person to get mad over big things, much less little things like this. But it had felt more and more like Michael was quick to snap lately, and Jeremy wasn't sure why. Jeremy was sure that it wasn’t something that _he’d_ done. He hadn’t done anything lately that he could think of that would cause Michael to become so suddenly snappish all the time. And it wasn’t as if Michael didn’t seem to regret snapping each time that he grew angry, because Jeremy had noticed that the dark cloud only seemed to darken each time that Michael realized he was growing angry again.

It was a cycle, as of late. Something would set Jeremy’s friend off, and the more irritated and overwhelmed that he grew, the angrier he got that he was being irritated. In Jeremy’s opinion, it wasn’t a big deal. So what if he was having a bad day, or a hard time? So _what_ if he was getting a little overwhelmed by all the noise and movement in the cafeteria? They hadn’t been friends since the third day of kindergarten for nothing.  And that meant Michael could tell Jeremy anything, right?

Which is why it was all the more astonishing when Michael didn’t really tell him anything at all these days. He always seemed downtrodden. Michael had always been the one to persistently get assignments done on time, but didn’t care a whole lot about completing things these days. And if Jeremy was honest? It was most than a little worrying, but he didn’t know where there was that _he_ could possibly do about it.

Not shockingly, Michael wasn’t pleased to hear about Jeremy’s agreement with Rich Goranski, of all people.

 

“Why did you tell him yes?”

Michael narrowed his eyes, squinting in Jeremy’s direction. He was leaning so far back in his chair that his head was almost touching the back wall.

“I don’t know!” Jeremy’s eyes snapped to the front of the room and continued more quietly. “I got freaked out, okay?”

Michael pursed his lips. “You don’t _have_ to go.”

“Yes I do! He’s gonna murder me if I stand him up.”

“It’s not a _date,_ Jeremy.” Michael went back to his work sheet, eyes still narrowed down at it.

Jeremy frowned, penning down an answer that he was sure was wrong. “Obviously.”

“You’re a dead man. You know that, right? He’s going to kill you in a high school bathroom.”

“That’s really helpful. Thanks, Michael.” Jeremy scowled down at his page.

They both quieted down after a sharp look from their calculus teacher, waiting until he turned back around to resume their conversation. Michael’s fingers were entwined in his headphone cords, winding in and out as if he were talking on an old telephone. Michael was practically an open book. He bit his lip when he got nervous, messed with his fingers when he was excited, played with his headphones when he was thinking hard, and his cheeks got dusted with red when he was angry.

“It’s fine, Michael. I’m not going to get shanked in a bathroom.”

“He’s gonna sell you drugs or something,” Michael muttered, shooting Jeremy an unsure look.

“You say that like you’ve never bought drugs before.”

“Not from Goranski.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes. “M—,”

“Look, just go, okay? But if you get murdered then it’s not my problem. And if you’re gonna buy drugs from him—because you apparently don’t know how to say no—then just get rid of them, unless you want to inject meat tenderizer into your arms.”

“What?”

“Do you remember that video we watched in health during freshman year? About meat tenderizer in drugs? And that lady’s skin all melted off her arms—,”

“That was, like, blatantly fake. I’m not going to buy drugs. Just chill, okay?” Jeremy sunk back into his chair. “Jesus, you’re like my dad or something.”

Michael glowered down at his desk, gripping his pencil until his hand turned white. “Yeah, sorry for _caring_.”

Jeremy studied him for a second, watching his cheeks redden. He’d only scrawled random numbers on each question. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Michael slid his headphones over his ears, pretending to focus on his worksheet again. His free hand tapped against his knee.

Jeremy frowned down at his desk, turning back to his own paper.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Rich was leaning against the wall, paper bag on the floor by his feet and arms crossed over his chest.  He glanced up when Jeremy walked in, giving him a once over.

“You’ve got some guts showing up here.”

Jeremy wanted to assure him that he was making an admirable attempt to be a cool movie villain, but that it wasn’t quite working. Instead, he shrugged. “You called it life changing, didn’t you?”

Rich grinned, so Jeremy hoped he’d made the right choice. “Oh, it’s life changing.”

His expression sobered just as quickly as it had lit up and he picked up the paper sack. He thrusted it in Jeremy’s direction. “Be careful with it. _Really_ careful with it. Don’t open it in the hallways. Keep it hidden. Keep it safe.”

“Are you trying to get me to hide your contraband?!”

“Open the damn bag, Jeremy.”

Jeremy swallowed, ripping the staple out of the paper and pulling it open cautiously.

“A…notebook?” Jeremy furrowed his eyebrows, glancing up at Rich, who only watched back stoically. He pulled it out of the bag, wrinkling his nose at the amount of dust on the red leather-bound journal.

He flipped it open, scowling down at it.

“Is this, like, a prank? How did you even do this?”

The pages were all filled with his own messy scrawl, pages of red pen, scribbled out in some places and listed in bullet points on others.

“You wrote that.” Rich stared back at Jeremy like he was trying to gauge a reaction. “You don’t…remember writing it. But you did.”

“And, what, _you_ do? Do you expect me to believe that?” Jeremy crumpled the paper bag up in his other hand, scowling down at the ground. “I’m not an _idiot._ ”

“You are if you don’t shut up and listen to me,” Rich’s voice was calm, eyes locked onto the notebook. “There’s a pocket in the back of the notebook with an SD card in it.”

Jeremy frowned down at the book, not wanting to look like an idiot if he turned to the back and didn’t find a pocket. He listened anyway, like the idiot he was. There was a pocket sewn onto the inner part of the back cover. Jeremy slipped his fingers in, pulling out the SD card from inside of it.

The bell rang for fourth period. Jeremy glanced at the shorter boy, eyebrows furrowed. “What is this, a virus?”

Rich paused, then shrugged. “Maybe. But it’s a good virus.”

“Wh…what? No, I’m not—,”

“Open the SD card. There’s a SIM card for your phone.”

“What?”

“The SD card will download it onto your computer, but there’s a SIM card for your phone.”

“My phone _has_ a SIM card,” Jeremy protested.

Rich held out his hand, palm up. “This one’s slim enough to go over the one you have now. It has a program installed onto it…or, no, it’s more like an…update. Just give me your phone.”

Michael was right. Jeremy really didn’t know how to say no.

He handed his phone over to Rich, who pulled a paperclip from his pocket to eject the SIM card. Jeremy wondered why he handed his phone over to a kid who would probably just take his SIM and run for it. He wanted to snatch his phone back and to class before he got a detention. Instead he watched as Rich slipped the thinner SIM card into place. He popped the card back into place, watching as the screen turned blue and then abruptly shut off.

“Nice,” Jeremy sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“Just wait.” Rich handed his phone back, eyes flipping back to the notebook. “Don’t turn your phone on until you get home. And don’t open that notebook until the program tells you to.”

“Why should I—,”

“This is bigger than you or me, Jeremy. Listening to me right now is the most important thing in your life at the moment, and bad things are going to happen if you ignore what I’m saying. Do you understand?”

“Fuck o—,”

_“Do you understand?”_

Jeremy paused, sliding his phone into his back pocket and cramming the notebook back into the brown paper bag. “Yeah, whatever. I understand. I won’t mess with shit until I get home.”

“You’re feeling bold,” Rich crooned, sliding past Jeremy and into the hallway. He slid his hands into his pockets and whistled something Jeremy didn’t recognize as he meandered towards the stairs.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“So?” Michael peered at Jeremy when he slid into his seat at lunch. “If I’m being honest, I’m a little shocked you’re alive. Did you even go?”

“I went, yeah. He…” Jeremy paused, not sure yet what was going on.

_This is bigger than you or me, Jeremy…bad things are going to happen if you ignore what I’m saying._

“He didn’t even show up. It was probably just a joke or something, like he’s trying to freak me out or whatever.”

Michael frowned at him, turning back to his soda and tangling his fingers into his headphones cord. “You’re sure? Why would he insist so much on you coming and then not show?”

“Why do they do anything they do?” Jeremy planted his backpack onto the table. “Can I use your phone to text my dad? Mine’s dead.”

Michael turned his head towards Jeremy with his nose wrinkled and stared.

“What?”

Michael frowned harder. “Your phone was fully charged this morning. How is it already dying?”

“I left it on 3G, Michael, Jesus. You _know_ this place drains batteries.”

“Whatever.” Michael shoved his phone in Jeremy’s direction, glowing in the direction of the door.

“Why are you so broody?”

“I’m not brooding.”

“He said, _broodingly._ ” Jeremy plucked up Michael’s phone, resting his thumbprint on the home button until it clicked open. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Michael was silent for a moment, resting his head on his folded arms. “Yeah, man. I’m fine.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jeremy’s dad wouldn’t be home for another two and a half hours, which would hopefully give him time to deal with any situation that might arise from using a sketchy virus installed onto his phone by somebody who had given him a nasty bruise on his arm a week prior.

Jeremy slid into his computer chair, sliding it across the floor and to his desk. He fished his phone out of his backpack, holding down on the power key until the screen lit up. It still had a blue tint to it.

“Great,” Jeremy mumbled, pulling the notebook and SD card from his backpack. “Now my phone’s fucked up. How am I going to explain this one?”

His phone finished restarting, clicking on. Instead of his lock screen, however, a startup menu popped up.

“What?”

**_Welcome. Enter the current date and time._ **

Jeremy blinked, complying and letting the load screen spin for a moment.

**_Now preparing for total restart._ **

**_Security protocol will now take place. Please say your mother’s maiden name._ **

“Hersch?”

**_You sound unsure. Are you certain?_ **

“Um, yes?”

**_Please state your date of birth._ **

“December 22nd?”

**_Your uncertainty is concerning, frankly._ **

“Shut up!” Jeremy paused, face flushing.

**_You are yelling at a computer._ **

Jeremy frowned as the loading screen returned. His lock screen appeared, a flashing arrow on the screen, pointing towards the home button. Jeremy rested his thumb, watching the arrow flash on the screen once more, this time towards the second page. Jeremy listened again, and watched it direct him to an app on his home screen. An app that…as far as Jeremy knew, hadn’t ever been downloaded onto his phone in the first place. His finger hovered over it, uncertainty dripping from his movements. If this _was_ just a prank, it was an elaborate one. Who designs a nanochip with intention of pranking somebody who they’d never talked to before? And if it was to hack a phone—well, they weren’t going to find anything interesting on Jeremy’s. He hadn’t even registered his card number into his settings, having been too lazy up until that point.

He clicked on the app.

A messaging app opened, set without any options to add contacts, or even change the settings. The contact bar—just as uneditable as everything else appeared to be—read _SQUIP,_ and where it should have read _‘online,’_ the app instead held, _‘do not listen; obey.’_

Jeremy drummed his fingers on the top of his desk. It wasn’t too late to shut his phone off and google how to remove a SIM card. But…then he wouldn’t ever know what was going on. And Jeremy—like the _idiot_ he was—wasn’t willing to give up finding the answer _now,_ because screw it, he’d already come this far.

The first message from the device appeared on the screen.

 

**JEREMY HEERE. WELCOME TO YOUR SQUIP. YOU HAVE REQUESTED A COMPLETE RESET OF YOUR TIMELINE. THAT IS NOT POSSIBLE. I HAVE BROUGHT YOUR TIMELINE AS FAR BACK AS I CAN, HOWEVER, AND CAN GUIDE YOU TO A BETTER OUTCOME FROM HERE. YOU DO NOT REMEMBER ME, BUT I AM HERE TO ASSIST YOU.  I AM HERE TO HELP YOU REACH YOUR GOAL.**

The messaging box lit up, and Jeremy cautiously typed his reply.

 

_My goal?_

**YOU HAVE ONE (1) GOAL ENTERED CURRENTLY. WOULD YOU LIKE FOR ME TO READ IT?**

The messaging box flashed once more.

 

_Yes?_

**YOUR ENTERED GOAL IS AS FOLLOWS:**

**SAVE MICHAEL.**


	2. September 13th - Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The SQUIP's explanation was less than promising, and Jeremy could feel a metaphorical clock starting to count down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ||TW FOR: suicide mention in the fifth paragraph.||

Jeremy paused, feeling his blood chill as he tried to swallow past the lump growing in his throat. “Save Michael? What’s wrong with him? Why do I need to…save him?”

**_There’s nothing wrong with Michael yet. There won’t be anything wrong with him for another two weeks. Your goal is to prevent anything from ever being wrong with him at all. However, that is unobtainable, so your end goal is simply to ensure that you save him from the events that will take place six months from now. You have failed at this fourteen times thus far. Everything you need to know about your failed attempts is recorded in the notebook you received. It—and I—can maintain our data even through a reset. You do not._ **

Jeremy glared at the screen, worry breaking way to an angry tension that bubbled up in his chest.

“How am I supposed to help him if this doesn’t make any sense? What am I even saving him from?”

**_In six months Michael Mell will choose to overdose on oxycodone. Your entered goal is to prevent this from happening._ **

Jeremy could have choked on air, and he felt as if he were. And this—all of this—just felt like a bad dream. Like he would wake up and go _wow, I wonder what that was about,_ and there wouldn’t be a supercomputer telling him that his best friend was going to die. He sat on the edge of his bed, doing his best to tell himself to breathe in slowly.

“Why? Why would he…”

**_You have yet to find the reason, and you have yet to find the solution. Read the journal, Jeremy, and then you can stop bothering me about it._ **

He paused, gaze settling on the dirty old journal sitting on his desk, mind trying to go a hundred miles an hour while he pieced everything together. There wasn’t—there couldn’t be something that wrong—Michael would tell Jeremy about it, wouldn’t he?

“You said I’ve…failed already?”

**_Fourteen times._ **

Somehow this wasn’t the beginning. Jeremy had managed to find himself stuck in the middle of a mess of a time loop with no recollection of doing so.

“Why don’t I remember it?”

**_You opted for a complete reset. I have the ability to move time in small increments. I can bring you back up to a week, at most. Anything more than that, however, and you are required to come back to this point. You have chosen to do so three times. However, if you’re going to obtain success, that is not an option this time. You don’t have enough resets for such a choice._ **

“Only six.”

**_You only have six chances to read your goal. I would highly suggest taking it seriously. Jeremy, do you have earbuds?_ **

“Um, yes?” Jeremy shifted, craning to grab his pair from his nightstand.

**_Plug them in. This will be faster._ **

Jeremy complied, furrowing his eyebrows together when he placed them in his ears, picking his phone back up. The messaging box didn’t blink for a response this time.

**“Now you may listen. But you cannot just listen. You must obey. Demonstrate your ability to do so now; read the first page of the journal you received.”**

He hesitated again, sliding his finger through the dust on top. Everything about this was sketchy, but Jeremy figured that if it were true—and it must have been true, because this was becoming too elaborate to be any kind of joke—then he really did _need_ to listen. Or…

Or he’d lose Michael. And nothing about the idea of losing Michael was appealing.

So Jeremy breathed. In for five and out for seven, until he could feel his head stop buzzing so angrily. He opened the journal, breathing in just as deeply as he had before.

The first page was written in black ink, which wasn’t too noteworthy. Jeremy always wrote in black pen. What was noteworthy was the fact that every other page was written in red ink, something that Jeremy was firmly against. It just looked so…messy. You could have the neatest handwriting in the world—red ink would still make it look like shit.

There was only a list on the first page. The top half had a paragraph scrawled down on it, but it had been scribbled out at one point or another. Just below the chicken-scratch mess and just above the list was a brief message, written in a hurry and at a slant.

_Follow every rule. Don’t change things. Don’t question things. Just do whatever it says. You are not a hero—you can’t save him alone._

It wasn’t a comforting message. If anything it was just a sharp reminder that Jeremy had failed to make his best friend happy _fourteen times_ and counting.

He stared down at the list.

  1. _Michael is going to ask you if you’re planning on going to the dance. If you say yes, he’ll go along with you. Don’t. Say. Yes. Tell him no, and tell him that he shouldn’t go either.* _
  2. _Invite Michael over. Take his phone while he’s changing, and hide it while he thinks that you’re changing. Go to page nine._
  3. _When he looks for his phone, help him look, but don’t find it. He’ll find it in the morning if you followed the rules and he’ll assume he left it there._
  4. _When he’s sad, don’t tell him that it’s going to be okay._



**“That’s all you need for now. Put the journal down for now. You’re going to install me onto your computer.”**

“I don’t know anything about computers,” Jeremy mumbled, hopping off his bed. The computer only offered him silence, which Jeremy decided to interpret as the electronic equivalent of an eye roll. “What kind of a name is ‘SQUIP,’ anyway? Don’t you go by something else? Can’t I call you, like, John?”

**“You may not call me John. I do not require a name. I am a SQUIP, and will therefore go by such.”**

“Okay, well, John—,”

**“SQUIP.”**

“What happens if I don’t do what this says, SQUIP? What if I wanna save him my own way?”

**“You have tried to do so before, and you have fourteen failures to show for it. You have seen Michael die twice now, and so I must urge you to follow the rules—the rules that you set for _yourself_ , might I add.” **

Jeremy swallowed hard.

What was his heart doing drumming in his throat again?

“Twice? I’ve seen him die twice?”

**“You tried to be a hero, Jeremy. You tried to do things ‘your own way,’ but your own way is not enough to save him. You alone are not enough to save him. Follow the book’s rules.”**

Jeremy stared down at the carpet, noticing how his limbs felt like lead. He felt tired, even though he’d slept for nearly ten hours the night before. Why was he _so tired_ , and how had he not realized it before?

Jeremy felt tired. And he felt small. He felt so, so small, and the world felt so, so heavy. It felt like everything had been strapped onto his shoulders at once and he’d been pushed off to carry the heaviest burden imaginable on his back.

“I want to help him,” he whispered. “How do I help him?”

**“Listen to the book, Jeremy. Tomorrow you’re going to go to school, and you’re going to talk Michael out of going to the dance. And then you’re going to invite him over. Leave one earbud in, I’ll instruct you along the way. This is crucial, Jeremy, and you cannot afford to mess up again.”**

Jeremy rubbed his face, like he could rub the sudden exhaustion out of his eyes. He dragged himself across the floor until he was positioned in front of his computer, slipping the orange SD card from the back pouch of the notebook once more. He plugged it into the cartridge bar, waiting for the new icon on his home screen. There was only one folder inside, still zipped shut. Jeremy dragged it onto his desktop, allowing it to import its files where it was.

“What else can you do?”

**“I’m a supercomputer. I can do a lot of things.”**

Jeremy watched the computer files load on the screen. The program that appeared looked the same as it did on his phone.

“Like what?”

**“Should anybody else open the program, they’ll only be able to view it as a regular messaging app.”**

“What happens to you after I run out of retries?” Jeremy spun his chair side to side, like a little kid. The program finished downloading, booting up automatically. The application loaded their earlier conversation, and the messaging bar remained unlit.

**“I get passed on, and I give somebody else twenty tries to solve their own dilemma.”**

Jeremy chewed on a hangnail. There wasn’t much else to do—not until tomorrow, anyway. And tomorrow—tomorrow Jeremy supposed that he would take the first step to saving his best friend. “So…do a lot of people have you to help solve things?”

**“No. I have helped forty six people thus far. There are no other copies of me. How I ended up in your hands, I am not sure.”**

“You’re here by accident. That’s reassuring.”

**“I did not have the intention to reassure you.”**

“Sarcasm, buddy,” Jeremy leaned back in his chair, pulling open Safari in his web browser. The SQUIP made a noise of confusion in his ear as he switched to an incognito tab.

**“What are you doing, and how is it pertinent?”**

Jeremy slid the earbuds out of his ears and tossed his phone onto his bed behind him. The SQUIP wasn’t going to be necessary for assistance with _everything._

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jeremy was pretty sure that he was going to be sick where he sat, and he knew that it was showing on his face.

Michael’s foot was tapping under the lunch table, eyes darting from the table and then back over to Jeremy.

“Michael?” Jeremy wrinkled his nose, raising an eyebrow in his friend’s direction. “Are you—?”

“I’m fine,” Michael snapped, relaxing as he forced the tension from his shoulders in a manner that was anything but subtle. “Please stop asking.”

Jeremy frowned down at the table. Yesterday this might not have been a big deal. Michael didn’t hate a lot of things, but he definitely hated talking about how he was feeling. Jeremy wondered if he even knew how. The few times that he’d really tried had ended in him struggling to translate the words from thoughts into sentences, and he’d always given up after several minutes of trying. Jeremy was beginning to wonder if he ever let those thoughts out, or if they had all just continued to fester in his head for years and years.

Was it tiring? Was it heavy?

Was it heavy enough to make him give up?

“You just seem…tense,” Jeremy mumbled, unsure if he should push or not. The book hadn’t mentioned this. “If you need to talk—,”

“I can talk to you,” Michael finished, side-eyeing Jeremy again. His expression smoothed into a smile, at last. “Enough of that, man. Did you see the posters for the school dance?”

Jeremy breathed in, picking up one earbud and popping it into his ear. “Yeah, I saw them,”

He opened the SQUIP’s app, allowing it to catch up for a moment before clicking his phone back and turning to Michael.

“Is it weird that I actually want to go?” Michael ran his fingers through a clump of hair, mussing it and making it fall out of place and into his eyes. “Not for the dance or whatever…I just want to be able to say I went. This is our last chance, y’know?”

**“Tell him that you aren’t going to go. Say that it would make you too anxious. Propose an alternate solution.”**

“I…actually wasn’t planning on going to that.” Jeremy bit his lip, hoping that it would make him look more honest. “I just think all the noise and people and everything…you get it, anyway.”

Michael nodded, sending him a look that was so sympathetic it made a wave of guilt wash over Jeremy for lying.

**“Tell him that it’s okay if he goes. You know he’s not going to go without you, so at least make it look as if you’re not trying to convince him not to go. Let him think he’s made the decision on his own.”**

“B-but it’s okay if you still want to go, obviously. I think it would be fun if you did,” Jeremy’s knuckled turned white around his backpack strap.

Michael leaned back in his chair, fingers twirling through his headphone cords with his bottom lip situated between his teeth. “Nah,” Jeremy couldn’t help but fight a wince at the disappointment in his voice. “There’ll be some other party or something.”

**“Propose an alternate solution.”**

_Like what?_

**“When has Michael ever said no to getting stoned in his basement?”**

“Hey—we can find something else to do. It’ll be more fun, anyway, right? We’ll have, like, an anti-dance.” Michael laughed at that, nudging Jeremy’s side. “Anyway, we can always get stoned in your basement, should all else fail.”

Michael stopped cutting off circulation to his fingertips, letting the headphone cords bounce down and off of the table. He wagged his eyebrows in Jeremy’s direction, seemingly over the disappointment of not going to the dance already. “We can definitely do that. The music would have sucked at the school dance, anyway. _I_ know how to play a real remix.”

“You know how to play a remix that would get you kicked out of the school dance in a couple minutes flat,” Jeremy teased, slipping the notebook back into his backpack.

**“Invite him over to spend the night.”**

“Oh, right!”

Michael raised an eyebrow, eyes trailing down to watch Jeremy stuff the notebook into the back pocket of his bag—usually reserved for his laptop, but now, with an exception having been made, used to keep the lists inside safe.

“Do you want to come over tonight?” Jeremy continued, face heating up as he noticed the long pause between the two sentences. “My dad already said it was fine, and I just downloaded a bunch of dumb games off of Steam for us to try sometime.”

Michael’s posture finally relaxed completely, and his shoulders sagged down in relief. Relief from _what_ Jeremy wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t complaining. “Yeah,” he agreed. “That sounds really nice.”

Jeremy paused, because that wasn’t the usual response form Michael, who generally just pumped his first into the air like a video game character and said, _oh, hell yeah!_ But Michael was grinning, and his fingers were still where they were stuffed into his pockets, so Jeremy deemed it worthy of being shrugged off.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

_“There’s never enough time in the world,” Jeremy could feel her hand on his leg. “There’s never enough time to make all the right choices or save all the right people.” Jeremy couldn’t see her—he couldn’t even make out whose voice was speaking to him. Everything he could see was blurry except for the end of the hallway in front of him. The only things that stayed clear were the door to the parking lot and the hall that led down to the gym. There was sweat dripping off of his forehead and onto his neck, but Jeremy couldn’t find it in himself to care._

**_Left or right._ **

_“Jeremy, there’s so much more than us. There’s so much more than you and me, and there always has been, and that’s why—,”_

_“Please stop,” Jeremy breathed, and when he tried to stand up all he could feel was the way that his legs felt weak and how his arms were trembling. “I don’t want to hear it.”_

_“You need to hear it, he—,”_

**_Left or right._ **

_“Please, Christine, I have to go.”_

_The hand pulled away from his leg, and more sweat dripped down from his chin, hitting the already-dirty hallway floor this time. “There’s nowhere to go, Jeremy.”_

**_Left or right._ **

_There was a stray piece of confetti on the ground, mashed into the ground by somebody’s muddy shoes._

**_Left or right._ **

_She was talking, her mouth was moving and her hand had traveled to Jeremy’s shoulder. But the air was just ringing and her voice was just insistent beeping, droning on and on and on._

**_Left or right! Left or right! Left or right!_ **

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

**“Do you keep a dream journal?”**

The SQUIP’s form of a wake-up call was one that made Jeremy slide his eyes away from his phone’s screen. “No. Why did you wake me up? It’s barely five.”

**“Michael will be over in an hour. You needed time to prepare. Additionally, perhaps you should start keeping that second journal. It may help you to keep track of your dreams.”**

“Why do I need to keep track of them?” Jeremy slid on a clean T-shirt, blue cardigan clutched in his other hand.

**“Did you not wear that all day today? And you know very well that wasn’t just a dream. You’re going to be having more of those, and they’re going to act as very important clues. I highly recommend keeping a dream journal.”**

Jeremy ignored the SQUIP and pulled on the cardigan. “I’ll grab something tomorrow. God, how weird is it that I’m just talking to my phone?”

**“I am a lot more than your phone, Jeremy, and am somewhat offended that you would compare me to such a mediocre bit of primitive technology.”**

“Primitive,” Jeremy mumbled, stretching and glancing again at the clock on his desk. Since when did it take an entire hour to prepare for Michael coming over? “You sure are all high and mighty today.”

**“I am confident every day. I am a computer. I do not feel self-deprecation, I only know what is true. And I know it is true that I am a more advance piece of technology than you’re ever going to see again in your life.”**

He rolled his eyes, listening as the SQUIP instructed him to pull out the notebook from his backpack once more and revise the criteria set up for that night. Michael spending the night didn’t _feel_ very critical, especially since they never tended to go a full week without doing exactly that. He had a hard time believing that playing shitty Steam games could be a key factor in saving Michael’s life. In fact, Jeremy wasn’t sure what he was supposed to believe.

The story made sense, as much as Jeremy hated to admit it, because how else would any of this be happening? But that didn’t mean that it all made sense, or that it all even added up. Like, just for example, the SQUIP had said that it operated by being passed along from person to person once the time came—like a burr on a deer. But, if that was the case, then it didn’t explain how it had ended up with Jeremy.

Had Jeremy tracked it down himself, and used it to jump back and try and save Michael the first time? Or had somebody known what had happened and given it to him? Jeremy didn’t know a whole lot of people, and he _definitely_ didn’t know a whole lot of people who would be willing to just fork over what seemed like million dollar technology.

But, that being said, whatever had happened at the beginning of the timeloop had clearly been different than what was happening now. So, the way Jeremy saw it, the best way to get answers was to track them back down to where the questions began.

He had one task set out for him that night; hide Michael’s phone. That would be easy enough, especially with step-by-step instructions laid out for him. But Jeremy had other plans for Monday when they would go back to school, because he needed answers to the questions that he still had.

The notebook had failed to explain where it had come from, or who had given the SQUIP to Jeremy to start with. The only ties he had at the time being were Rich and, if his dream was really more than a dream, Christine, too.

**“If you actually bothered to read more than a page or two of the notebook then you’d know that you’re going to have to talk to Rich, anyway. Best to start there and save yourself the trouble of two conversations, don’t you think?”**

“What do I even _say_ to him?”

**“We’ll get to that. Focus on tonight, for now. You can’t afford to mess this up.”**


	3. September 13th - Afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Jeremy had to do was make sure that he didn't mess up following the first steps left for him in the journal. 
> 
> How hard could it be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ate a whole bag of hot Cheetos while writing this, fuckin rip

>   [Not interested yet? Have some promo art for chapter nine](http://aobajosighs.tumblr.com/post/163832501097/dont-look-so-blue-kid-dont-you-know).

              Michael was going to show up in thirty minutes, and the SQUIP was taking its role as a drill sergeant very seriously.

**“You need to ensure that he is occupied for the whole night. Do not leave the room in silence. Do not bring up serious topics.”**

“Why is this so important?” Jeremy flipped the notebook open, skimming through the first four rules once more. “Michael and I hang out all the time.”

There was a page, towards the very middle, where the handwriting was too messy to even make out. What _was_ legible had been angrily crossed out, barely able to be decoded through the scribbles overtop.

_~~You’re only making him unhappy.~~ _

_~~Tell him you--------~~ _

_~~Go to him.~~ _

_~~Let him go??~~ _

**“It’s important not to deviate from the paths that have led you the closest to success.”**

“But those paths didn’t work!” Jeremy protested. He snapped the notebook shut, scowling as a flurry of papers fell out of somewhere in the middle.  He dropped to the ground, scooping them up and thumbing through the first several papers. “Receipts?”

**“You might not need those. Leave them in the journal for now. I’ll tell you to look at them as they become pertinent to the choices that you make.”**

Jeremy’s gaze settled on the first receipt. The store name was covered with black Sharpie, and the only item that was purchased was a cup of coffee.

“I don’t drink coffee,” he tucked the receipts away into the journal once more, eyes sliding over to look at the clock. “Twelve minutes. Michael always—,”

**“Michael always shows up early, yes, I am aware, Jeremy. I’ve done this many times already. Do you remember what time you need to have his phone by?”**

“Eleven.”

 **“On the _dot_ ,” **the SQUIP concluded, stressing the last word as if to add more tension to the already incredibly tense situation. **“Because you don’t need reminding of what’s going to happen if you don’t.”**

Jeremy debated leaving the journal on top of his desk for a moment before deciding against it. He wasn’t sure what would happen if Michael were to skim through it—he might not even understand what it was saying—but Michael had always been able to understand things more easily than he perhaps should have been. Even if he didn’t understand what it meant, it definitely wouldn’t be promising for him to find notes on how Jeremy was going to fiddle with his phone behind his back.

He stuffed the notebook into his top desk drawer. He would read the papers in there eventually—maybe he would find an answer or two more if he did. Anything that he could get his hands on to quell the desperation that was starting to burn in his stomach.

He had six months, but he was already making impacting decisions. Didn’t that mean that Jeremy could mess up now and spend the next half a year in a downward snowball without even realizing? How _long_ had he already been trapped inside of the loop?

**“Four years and seven months. You take an awfully long time to realize your mistakes. You’ve described it to me as being careful…the word I would use is ‘dense’.”**

Jeremy wondered when his throat became so dry and when the ringing in his ears followed him from his dreams and into this moment.

“Four years,” he repeated. “Four years and it feels like one day?”

**“Four years and _seven months_ and it feels like one day, yes.”**

“I’m twenty-one. I’m old enough to drink.”

**“You’re seventeen, you’re old enough to focus on the fact that you have an important task ahead of you. The resets aren’t a continuation of one timeline, they’re a jump back into the same one. So, yes, in one timeline you are twenty-one years old. And in that timeline your best friend is dead. Focus on what you want, I’m not here to judge you.”**

Jeremy sobered up, kicking his backpack under his bed. “What can I do until he gets here?”

**“Text him.”**

The SQUIP clicked, a signal that it was done talking for the time being. It wasn’t as helpful as a device designed to assist probably should have been.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

To: Player One

we can play duke nukem °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

~

From: Player One

Isn’t that game shit? Lol

~

To: Player One

that’s why we’re gonna play it

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Michael turned up an hour late, which, considering the fact that they saw each other nearly every day, wasn’t all that bad. He apologized at the door, slipping off his shoes and wagging his eyebrows like he had the perfect story to tell later on. In reality he’d probably just taken a nap and overslept, if his messy hair and the way that his fingers played with his hoodie strings were anything to go by.

There was mud on his shoes, which meant he’d taken the shortcut between their houses to shave off eight or nine minutes of the walk time. Jeremy nudged them onto the doormat and turned to Michael with his hands on his hips. “Now we’re gonna have to stay up an hour later so that we can still fit all of those games into our precious schedule.”

“Uh-huh, and we weren’t going to stay up to some insane hour anyway? I’m gonna kick your ass at Deadly Premonition, by the way,” Michael teased, dropping his backpack onto the floor next to his shoes.

Michael’s hoodie was missing a patch. Jeremy couldn’t tell which _one_ , but he did know that there hadn’t always been a gap in the mesh of patches that had been squeezed onto the back, not to mention there was still a square marking on the hoodie from where the patch had previously resided. Whatever it was, it was probably going to be making a return within a couple of days. Michael would have chosen his patches over a week of food by this point, and Jeremy was confident that the patch would be lovingly ironed back into place.

“What was that one?” He jabbed a finger in the direction of the blank space.

Michael’s eyes down to follow where he was pointing. He blinked once, then shrugged. “Just one of the cheap thrift shop patches. You remember the ones they sold that day for a nickel? I had a bunch of those. Pretty shitty quality, though.”

“Are you going to put it back on?”

“Did you actually pay money for Duke Nukem?” Michael swiveled around in Jeremy’s desk chair. “Or did you just download a rip-off from the internet? I think it’d probably be better as a rip-off, honestly, because sometimes the files import wrong and all the dimensions get off. If we’re doing this for humor, that’s definitely the way to go.”

“It took them two decades to make that game.”

“And ten minutes to disappoint the two decades worth of people waiting to _play_ that game. Besides, it was fifteen years, not twenty.” Michael wagged his finger in Jeremy’s direction.

“Why do you know that?”

“Hello, pot, I’m kettle,”

Jeremy rolled his eyes, gesturing to his bedroom door. “Do you want to go see the shittiest CGI of your life or not?”

“Who am I if I’m not letting my best friend pay real, actual, human money for me to have the honor of playing games with worse CGI than Sharknado?” Michael leaned back , propping his socked feet up on the edge of Jeremy’s bed. “Glad to see you chilling out, though, man.”

“What do you mean?” Jeremy’s fingers fidgeted with the sleeve of his shirt.

Michael shrugged, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “You just seemed really tense today, dude. You’ve been all…weird ever since you met up with Rich during passing period. Sorry—since you _didn’t_ meet up with Rich during passing period.”

“You’re saying that like it’s a lie,” Jeremy frowned, feeling his drowsiness from before start to come back despite his earlier nap.

“I…” Michael shrugged. “It’s whatever, man. But you’ve still been acting all weird.”

“I have _not,”_

Michael squinted at him from across the counter, before slouching back. “I don’t want to fight right now. Can we just go play the games?”

A pang of guilt prodded Jeremy’s stomach.

“Yeah, ‘course we can,” he glanced back at Michael one more time, relieved to find him looking calm again. “You’re sure that you’re—,”

“I’m _fine,_ ” Michael slid off of the counter, taking a moment to stop himself from slipping when his socks hit the kitchen floor.  “You’re just procrastinating now because you’re worried that you’re going to lose to me at the worst-best game of the century.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Why don’t you know where his phone is? Can’t you…talk to it? Scan for it?” Jeremy lifted up one of the pillows on his bed, peering under it. “We don’t have a whole lot of time, here.”

 **“We have ten whole minutes until he’ll be back from changing,”** the SQUIP disagreed. **“Check in his backpack downstairs.”**

Jeremy turned on his heel, flinging open his bedroom door and preparing to yell an excuse to Michael.

**“The _notebook,_ moron! And don’t say anything to him, he’ll just be suspicious in the morning if you do.”**

He plucked up the notebook and pounded down the stairs,  skidding to a halt at the bottom just in front of the door. He squatted, fishing through.

“It’s not in here.”

**“Then it’s in the pocket of his hoodie downstairs.”**

Right. Michael had taken it off when it got hot in the basement.

Jeremy did his best not to trip over his own feet on his way down the next flight of stairs, managing to only stumble on the last step. It’s not like there was anybody there to _watch_ his clumsy descent anyway. He picked up Michael’s hoodie, shoving his hand into the pocket and rummaging through.

_There!_

“Now what?” Jeremy flipped it over and pressed his finger to the home button.

**“Now you listen to the notebook. We’ve been over this, Jeremy.”**

“I’m just stressed in the moment!”

**“You’re going to be a whole lot more stressed when Michael is d—,”**

“Stop it! Stop saying that! He’s not going to…page nine?”

Jeremy didn’t wait for the SQUIP’s reply, just thumbed through the notebook. Page nine was filled with an urgent scrawl of red pen. It was probably one of the pens from his dad’s office. It wasn’t like his dad was going to notice if one went missing, and it was right down here in the basement. If Jeremy had written the notebook as he went along—and he was assuming that’s what he did—then he obviously would have just grabbed whatever was closest and gone with it…even _if_ that meant writing with messy, red pen.

**“Is it really that important?”**

“Who asked you?” Jeremy’s thumb settled on the corner of the page. Michael’s phone buzzed in his other hand.

  1. _When Michael’s dad texts, ~~block the number and delete it~~ _



The end of the first step was striked out with a new ending crammed underneath it in shakier handwriting.

  1. _When Michael’s dad texts, wait until he finishes asking his questions. Tell him no. Block the number and delete the conversation and the contact from Michael’s phone._
  2. _Block and delete his number from your phone, too._
  3. _When Michael looks for his phone in the morning, help him look for it. Don’t check or mention his backpack or hoodie, and don’t look in the basement until he goes down first. Just check in your room and in the kitchen or he’ll get suspicious._
  4. _Don’t ask if he needs a ride home the next day. Tell him that you’re walking to ~~Christine’s~~ _ the store _to pick up ingredients for dinner, so you’ll just walk with him to his house._
  5. _Don’t go inside. ~~Don’t touch.~~ Say goodbye on the sidewalk and go to the store. Dad needs parmesan, anyway._



Jeremy’s lips were dry, and though it wasn’t important in the moment, he hated the dry, cracking feeling of them.

“That’s really specific.”

**“It’s fairly unspecific for four years of work, if you ask me.”**

“Well, nobody asked you,” Jeremy woke Michael’s phone back up, feeling it buzz again while he did so.

 

From: Dad

You better not be ignoring me

From: Dad

You’re just like your mom, you know that?

From: Dad

Do you think you’re better than the rest of us?

From: Dad

Like you’re some kind of special fucking snowflake?

From: Dad

You aint special.

From: Dad

Our deal was two days a month.

From: Dad

Tuesday. Six. Be here.

 

Jeremy’s head hadn’t stopped spinning for the last two days—this wasn’t in the notebook. It wasn’t in the notebook that Michael had been lying for _years_ when he’d been telling Jeremy that he hadn’t talked to his dad since he was younger. God—what else had he been lying about?

_How am I supposed to help you if I’m starting to realize I barely even know you?_

**“Stop getting distracted. You have five minutes left.”**

“Right,” Jeremy muttered, staring at a blank portion of the wall while he tried to gather air back into his lungs. “Send the text back.”

 

To: Dad

No.

 

**“Block the number now, Jeremy, you have four minutes left.”**

Jeremy’s finger moved up to tap the _i_ in the top right corner of the screen, scrolling down until he could press the very last button on the bottom of the screen.

_Block this caller._

He deleted the conversation, next, listening to the SQUIP’s monotone countdown drone on in his head.

“You’re not helping!” He snapped, scrambling to delete the number from Michael’s contacts.

**“Two minutes. I’d put the phone away and go back upstairs, if I were you.”**

“You’re not,” Jeremy hissed, but cleared the app history and stuffed the phone back into Michael’s hoodie regardless. He bounded up the stairs, managing to only stumble twice.

**“Sit down on your bed again; open your phone to a news app.”**

Jeremy did as the SQUIP instructed, managing to scroll a convincing amount of distance down an article by the time the door swung open again and Michael walked in, having only changed his shirt in the last ten minutes. He flung his dirty shirt in Jeremy’s direction.

**“Ask him if he’s heard the news.”**

_What news?_

**“Ask him if he’s heard _the news._ ”**

Jeremy paused.

“ _So,”_ he began convincingly.

Michael raised an eyebrow, plopping back down into the desk chair. “So.”

“Have you heard _the news?_ ”

Michael stared.

And then he laughed.

“Why are you saying it like that?” Jeremy noted the way that Michael’s voice sounded when he laughed, innocent and amused. His eyes always squinted when he grinned that wide.

**“They’re making marijuana legal in some places.”**

“They’re making marijuana _legal,”_ Jeremy spared a moment to wonder if that were true.

**“Of course it’s true. I told you before. I am a computer; I know nothing but the truth.”**

Michael’s eyes were crinkled in the corners, calm where he sat. “Dude, that happened such a long time ago. You live under such a big rock. Good thing you’ve got _me_ to share all the best news with you.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me about this!” Jeremy teased. He clicked his phone off, tossing it to the side. There was no point in reminding Michael about the key bit of technology that he was missing right now, anyway. “You’re an unreliable news outlet now.”

“Whatever, man. Go get changed,” Michael gestured to the doorway with a flourish, like there was more out there than a bare hallway and a bathroom.

Jeremy grinned back at him, scooping up a T-shirt and an old pair of sweatpants from where he’d thrown them on his bed earlier. His smile fell always in the hallway.

**“You’re not in the clear yet, Jeremy. You won’t be done with this step until tomorrow afternoon. Relax for the night, though. I would recommend shutting your phone down for the night and leaving it in here. I do enjoy a rest now and then.”**

Jeremy sniffed, scrunching his nose up when he just ended up making his nose more stuffed. He shut his phone off and pulled off his shirt. His limbs always felt heavy now, like there was a weight dragging them directly into the floorboards. 

_Four years’ worth of restlessness._

When he returned to his room, it was to find Michael already asleep, sprawled out over the entirety of Jeremy’s bed.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Michael didn’t snore. But Jeremy could always tell when Michael was really asleep because of the way that his breathing would thicken, heavy enough for Jeremy to hear it. When he was awake he would breathe without any sort of rhythm at all, and it was soft enough that you wouldn’t ever hear it unless you were listening for it. And then, every now and then, he’d take a deep breath in and then exhale heavily. It never sounded frustrated, and Jeremy wondered sometimes if he just forgot to breathe sometimes and that was his way of catching up.

And, dammit, if Jeremy could notice the way that Michael _breathed,_ then why couldn’t he noticed the way that Michael _hurt?_

And why wouldn’t Michael talk to him about things that mattered?

Jeremy had been so sure that he knew everything there ever was to know about Michael, but that all of this went on, the more he was beginning to doubt that he really knew anything about his best friend at all.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


	4. September 14th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy was finally beginning to catch on to what he had to do, and the way that this had to work. The question was beginning to change from how to do it, forming instead to whether or not he could do it.

            **“Michael is going to go home in three hours. All you need to do until then is make them an enjoyable three hours. This is imperative.”**

Jeremy groaned, rolling over from where he was asleep on the ground. He could still hear Michael’s slow breathing from on top of his bed, so there was really no reason for the SQUIP to have woken him up so early.

**“You are a slow thinker. I’m ensuring that you’ll have the time to plan. You should thank me for doing this.”**

“This is all that you know how to do,” Jeremy muttered, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He sat up, picking his phone up off of the floor. One of his earbuds had fallen out while he slept. The SQUIP grunted unhappily in the ear that held the other one. “This is literally all that you know how to do. You were literally programmed to do this.”

**“I can do so much more than this, Jeremy. I can do anything at all.”**

“Except be, you know, a living thing?”

**“That was insensitive. I am hurt.”**

Jeremy scrambled to dig himself out of the hole he’d just flung himself into. “Sorry! I just meant, like, you know, you literally aren’t alive, so—,”

 **“I was demonstrating my ability to use sarcasm,”** the SQUIP’s voice managed to sound smug. **“I can also do standup comedy and _damsel in distress,_ if you’re interested in my other emotional modes.”**

“Your emotional _modes?_ Jesus, that’s dark,” Jeremy scrunched his nose up, shucking off his shirt from the day before and tugging off his pants. He checked over his shoulder, pausing for a moment until he was sure that Michael was still asleep. Right. Gotta…remember that he’s not alone right now.

**“Maybe stop thinking about the fact that you’re not wearing clothes and do something about it, instead.”**

Right! Right, yes. That was something that he should definitely do.

Jeremy rummaged through his drawer, yanking out the first pair of pants that he saw and pulling them on. He grabbed a tan shirt from where it was hanging up in the closet—a shirt from one of the summer camps he went to with Michael when they were little—and pulled it on, fully aware that it clashed with the pants that he’d picked from his brilliantly random selection.

**“Wake him up.”**

“W—how?”

**“Jeremy Heere, you think too much.”**

Jeremy bit his lip, prodding Michael’s shoulder and receiving a halfhearted intake of air as a response.

“Michael,” he mumbled, gifting his friend with another slightly harsher poke.

**“Stop poking him!”**

“Then what do _you_ suggest I do?”

**“Push him off the bed.”**

“That’s not any better.”

**“You asked me what I suggest you do, not what you would think best to do in this situation. And that is what I suggest. It is not my fault that you don’t know how to run highly advanced technology.”**

“Go fuck yourself, how about that?”

“Are you…talking to yourself?” Michael gave Jeremy a groggy frown of confusion, squinting up at him from where he was running his hand along the bedside table to try and find his glasses.

**“Wow, Einstein! Another brilliant study!”**

Jeremy felt his face flush. He pressed Michael’s glasses into his hand, waving his other hand around as he tried to come up with an excuse. “I’m just thinking out loud,” he lied.

One of Michael’s eyebrows raised, lowering only when he paused to yawn and slide his glasses onto his face. “Alright, well…”

“Breakfast. Do you want breakfast? I can go make breakfast,” Jeremy watched Michael stare up at him again, blinking sleepily with his eyes clouded with the little drowsiness that remained in them.

“Yeah, man, breakfast sounds great,” Michael seemed just as thankful for the _out_ route from their awkward start-of-the-morning conversation.

_Is that supposed to happen? Did I just mess all of this up?”_

**“You have yet to _not_ talk to yourself in front of Michael.” **

_And I have ‘yet to succeed,’ too, so how do we know that’s not it?_

**“Do you truly believe that watching you tell the pillows to go fuck themselves is the strangest thing that Michael has ever seen you do? That’s not the reason.”**

Jeremy placed his hand on the railing, sliding it down along next to him while he went down the stairs, skipping the steps three at a time.

There wasn’t much in terms of breakfast foods in Jeremy’s kitchen, but he figured there wasn’t an easy way to go wrong with frozen waffles.

All Jeremy had to do now was walk Michael home in three hours. That would be easy—he walked Michael home all the time. It wasn’t like they didn’t pass each other’s houses all the time going places. Their houses were placed conveniently in the middle of everywhere, meaning there was always a hundred and one excuses for going by each other’s places.

(Michael’s mother was always adamantly against people randomly coming over, but she’d never had a problem with the two of them sitting on the swing on the front porch and kicking their feet back and forth for hours, telling her that they were talking about class assignments whenever she would poke her head out to check on them. She never believed them, of course, if the smile that always popped onto her face gave anything away, but she would never chide them, and she’d always let them stay there until it got dark.)

And the notebook—the strangely _specific_ notebook—had made it clear that he would need to use that excuse.

**“He’s going to come downstairs in a minute. Mention the lack of food now, so that it will seem more believable later on when you tell him you need to go to the store.”**

“The notebook says not to touch,” Jeremy wondered aloud, placing the waffles into the toaster. “But it’s crossed out. Except it doesn’t have anything written under it? So…what does it want me to do? Are we supposed to touch? Am I supposed to shake his hand or something?”

The SQUIP stayed silent for a moment and Jeremy wondered if he’d managed to stump it for once.

If only.

**“You are a level of oblivious that doesn’t even begin to register on my charts. It is crossed out in the notebook because—”**

The toaster pinged and Jeremy jumped backwards, catching himself on the edge of the counter as he knocked the heel of his foot into the corner.

“ _Shit,_ ow,” he scowled at the toaster, snatching the waffles out with a vengeance. The SQUIP was quiet, most likely judging him for his panic at the sound of food springing out of a toaster. Whatever the device’s analysis was, Jeremy wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it.

By the time that he had settled the food onto plates and dug through the fridge for syrup that wasn’t expired Michael had sat himself down in one of the chairs across from Jeremy, yawning again as he rested his head in the middle of his folded arms, peering out at the food with a hungry interest that made Jeremy want to laugh.

“What, are you hungry or something?”

“Man, you know I am,” Michael plucked a waffle off of the first plate, taking a bite out of it to prove his point. He continued with his mouth full, “you know how it is in this economy, with the food so scarce and all. I take food from the rich and wealthy when I can.”

Jeremy grinned for real this time.

“Does that make me the rich and the wealthy, then? And you, peasant heathen, are here just to steal my food?”

Michael took another bite, not bothering with syrup or butter. “Them’s the breaks, kid. I don’t make the rules, I just take them and eat them.”

**“Mention the store.”**

“As glad as I am that you like our near-freezer burnt waffle collection,” Jeremy’s foot tapped against the ground in a fast-paced and anxious rhythm. “I’ll probably need to be— _ugh_ —responsible eventually and pick up something else. I think my dad needs stuff for tonight or whatever, anyway,” he wrinkled his nose in faux distaste.

“Responsibility sucks,” Michael agreed in a somber tone, managing to cram the rest of his waffle into his mouth.  “You goin’ my way?”

**“Oh.”**

_What?_

**“Recalculating.”**

Jeremy’s eyes slid over to where Michael was wagging his eyebrows up and down right back at him, then slid down to watch him pick up another waffle.

“Dude, how do you eat them that dry?” Jeremy watched Michael take another large bite, as if he were doing so purely with the intent of making Jeremy wrinkle his nose once more. “Does your throat not burn from swallowing a dry waffle?”

Michael leaned forward, face lacking emotion, and opened his still-full mouth. “My thr—,”

“Don’t!” Jeremy shoved his friend back into his seat. “Don’t say it, I swear to _god.”_

Michael laughed, and then choked. Making a swift recovery, he turned back towards Jeremy. “We never finished Deadly Premonition,” he prompted, and there was something so hopeful in his voice that Jeremy couldn’t stop his eyes from flitting over in surprise. “I was promised a hilariously shitty ending, and I intend to receive just that.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“You swear you haven’t seen it anywhere?” Michael pulled open a drawer, swallowing hard as he shut it again. “ _Dude,_ I was expecting a text and everything.”

He didn’t sound too eager about the text.

Jeremy pretended his sympathetic frown was for a different reason. “Finally got a girl and then you lost your phone, huh?”

“God, I _wish,_ ” Michael frowned, standing up and jabbing his thumb in the direction of the stairs. “I’m gonna check the kitchen, that cool?”

Jeremy sent a thumbs-up in his direction. “Coolio,” he agreed.

**“Go downstairs in three minutes.”**

“That’s specific,”

**“You are like a small child, repeating the most obvious of information back at me because it seems to amaze you every time, no matter how dull or obvious the information is. Do you enjoy obvious information?”**

“Shut up,” Jeremy hissed, unwilling to risk having Michael come back up and question his talk to his self again. “I’m just not used to a computer telling me what I need to do, obviously.”

**“The sun is the center of your solar system. Your sky is blue because molecules in the air scatter blue light more than they scatter red lighting. Stars live ten billion years.”**

Jeremy wished that the SQUIP were a physical entity, purely for the purpose of being able to shove it into a wall. “Smartass. How is _that_ helpful?”

**“Do you know what would be helpful? If you were that bold to everyone who you spoke to.”**

Jeremy scowled, picking Michael’s backpack up off of the ground and slinging it over his shoulder.

Michael was leaning on the kitchen table, propped up by his elbows and scrolling through his phone. He didn’t look bothered, and Jeremy took note of the way that the dark circles under his eyes were much less present than they had been the day before.

“Did the cute girl text?” He teased, placing Michael’s backpack on the table next to his elbows.

Michael’s forehead wrinkled for a moment before smoothing out. “Yeah, dude, course she did. Have you _met_ me?”

Jeremy prodded Michael’s side. “Yeah, I’ve met you one or two times before.”

_One or two timelines before._

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Michael was dragging his feet, and Jeremy could tell “without a doubt that Michael was dragging his feet because of the sound of his shoes scraping against the pavement while he walked.

_Do I need to touch him or do I need to not touch him?_

**“You need to do what is required for that specific moment of time.”**

_You’re supposed to have the answers! Haven’t you done this before? Haven’t you been doing this for years? Why don’t you have the answers?_

**“This is a new route, Jeremy. You haven’t found the right answer to this specific moment yet.”** The SQUIP was using a tone like it was comforting a small child having a temper tantrum in the middle of a grocery store. **“So you must simply do what is necessary in the moment and not make the wrong choice.”**

_If it were that simple then I wouldn’t need to use a supercomputer to figure this out._

**“You would be surprised.”**

Michael peered at him from the corner of his eye. “Did you sleep last night?”

“Huh?”

“You just seem…super out of it. Plus, I dunno where you slept if you _did,_ because…”

**“Because you certainly weren’t there with him when he blatantly wished for you to be.”**

_Not necessary._

“I got distracted,” Jeremy shrugged.

**“Your neighbor woke you up.”**

“Plus, my neighbor was being, like, an insane level of loud this morning, which I’m surprised that you slept through,” Jeremy watched Michael grin, knowing full well that he could sleep through an incredible amount of loud noises. “So I guess I only got a few hours? But it’s all cool, I didn’t have anything super important going on today, anyway.”

 **“ _Idiot!_ Augh!”** The SQUIP make a sound of frustration that was akin to a cat growling. **“You need to go back. Nice work, Sherlock, you’re only going to have five tries after this.”**

“What?” Jeremy stopped where he was. Michael looked back at him with the same confused expression from earlier.

“Are you…?”

**“Just do it, moron! Tell me that you want to reverse by ten minutes, and do it now.”**

“I—uh—I want to reverse by ten minutes?”

Michael’s expression furrowed. “Jeremy, what the hell are you—,”

And then it paused. And _everything_ paused.

**“You are in a temporary time-lock. This is where I will tell you exactly where you were a moron and doomed the whole timeline, and then I will tell you how to go back and fix it, and you will not just listen to me, you will obey. Am I clear?”**

Jeremy blinked, eyes focused on the way that a piece of Michael’s hair had been stopped mid-fall. It was…unnatural to be in the middle of an entire world that had just…stopped.

**“You were a _moron_ for saying that you didn’t have anything of importance on your agenda today. You’re going to fix it by going back and _this time_ you are going to leave it at ‘but it’s all cool.’ Do you understand what you are to do?” **

“Yeah,” Jeremy mumbled, wondering what would happen if he reached out to just…try and…touch…

And then the world glitched.

The trees peeled themselves apart and the sky turned a shade of brown that didn’t compliment anything at all. Jeremy’s stomach leapt into his throat and his heard pounded with an intense ferocity that made him feel like he was going to be sick. Everything was muted and silent with a silence that was so loud it felt like it was roaring in his ears and trying to make him go deaf.

And then he was there on the sidewalk again, with Michael standing next to him. His hand was on his house key. He was…locking the front door again.

“Jeremy?” Michael prompted, poking him in the shoulder.

Right. Right, this—this was the purpose of the SQUIP.  Jeremy turned around, shooting Michael a grin. This was when they were talking about that game they’d downloaded off of the internet somewhere for free. “I think Angus’ route is the best, though?”

“What? No! He’s the most minor character that you could possibly even _get_ a route for.” Michael rolled his eyes, jumping down the steps of Jeremy’s front porch two at a time.

And Jeremy slipped back into the conversation while his ears rang with déjà vu the entire time.

**“Welcome to your first time jump. You have _five_ left now, so watch what you say in the near future.”**

The SQUIP’s crooning voice was almost a welcome addition, even if it _was_ dripping with an unnecessary and unappreciated amount of sarcasm.

And then Michael was peering at him from the corner of his eye again. “Did you sleep last night?”

“ _Dude,”_ Jeremy glanced at Michael with as much exasperation as he could muster. “Did you see the new _Bluemont Pier_ update? There’s like twelve new levels. So I got distracted by that, and then, like, karma, my neighbor—you know, the old lady with the dogs?—was being crazy loud. So I guess I got a few hours in, but it’s all cool. Chillin’ with you is worth it, anyway.”

_Where did that even come from? Did I just manage to mess that up for the second time in ten minutes?_

**“Calm down, you didn’t mess it up this time.”**

Michael sighed heavily enough to make Jeremy’s gaze whip to his left. Right. Michael’s house.

Jeremy offered up his knuckles for a fist bump. Michael obliged, shooting Jeremy a tired-looking grin.

“Thanks, man,” Michael mumbled, turning to trek across his lawn and to his own front door.

_Thanks for what?_

**“Impertinent. Now, are you going to the store or are you going to wait around on the sidewalk all day like a _creeper_?” **


	5. September 14-Evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rich Goranski has some explaining to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey what’s up, I’m Jared, I’m nineteen, and I never learned to fuckin update on time

Jeremy  figured that the best thing for him right now would really be to listen to the SQUIP. On one hand, the SQUIP knew exactly what to do and exactly what would have the best outcomes. On the other hand, Jeremy _really_ wanted to know how this whole mess started. Besides—hadn’t the SQUIP been the one to insist that he should talk to Rich eventually?

**“I never said right now. I didn’t even say today.”**

“Just tell me where I could go to find him!” Jeremy tucked his hands into the sleeves of his sweater.

 **“I don’t know where he would be,”** the SQUIP used a tone like a mother reprimanding her child. **“I only know where he might be, based off of probability and—,”**

“Great! So pick one.”

**“You’ve already changed this route. Things are happening much differently. I don’t know how you’ve managed this, or if you’ve messed everything up or not, but I will warn you to tread with caution. You already made _one_ mistake.”**

Jeremy frowned down at the sidewalk, fully aware that he was dragging his feet and probably messing up his perfectly good shoes. “I don’t see what I did that was such a big deal,”

**“If things go the way that they’re supposed to then you never will understand.”**

“Why can’t you just tell me? Then I won’t do it again.”

**“I’ll make sure you don’t do it again. You can’t walk on eggshells around him, Jeremy, he’s going to misinterpret it. And that’s exactly what you’re going to do if I tell you what it was that you did wrong. I will say that it’s not what you might expect. Don’t think too hard about it.”**

Jeremy groaned dramatically, putting together his _woe is me_ charade. The SQUIP wouldn’t fall for it, of course—it wouldn’t have been convincing even _if_ the SQUIP weren’t able to read his mind. Still, Jeremy could feel sorry for himself if he really wanted to. The SQUIP didn’t speak to him still.

“I just want some answers,” he tried to reason with it. “I want to know why he had that notebook. He’s got to know more than I do, right?”

The SQUIP hummed in agreement, a very human way of agreeing, in Jeremy’s opinion.

**“I told you to go to the store, didn’t I? Your dad needs parmesan.”**

Jeremy gave another theatrical groan. _“Fine._ You’re acting more like my mom than a high-tech supercomputer, you know that?”

**“I’m behaving nothing like your mother. I’m only _improving your life._ ” **

“See! She said that, too,” Jeremy insisted, adamant about his point.

The SQUIP scoffed. **“But _I_ mean it.” **

“Well, you’re obviously _not_ programmed to be a mom. I just meant you were being similar,” Jeremy worked his teeth on his bottom lip. “Obviously you’re not the same. You don’t even, like, physically exist.”

 **“I do not have a physical form,”** the SQUIP agreed. **“But I can have a visual one, if you would like.”**

Jeremy paused.

“A visual form? Like, I could _see_ you?”

The SQUIP made a noise of agreement.

**“I am programmed to be as human as possible. I can appear to you in a more human format, if it would aid the illusion of a ‘helpful assistant and slash or friend.” Would that aid your illusion of having a ‘helpful assistant and—,”**

“Um, yeah? Show me,” Jeremy balanced on his heels, glad that he hadn’t chosen to stop and talk to the air on a busier spot. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t need to worry about somebody wondering who he was talking to as long as he stayed where he was, at the very least.

In the place where he stared the air shimmered the way that it had earlier when Jeremy had reset. And then, in the place of nothing at all, there was the SQUIP.

“Keanu Reeves,” Jeremy noted, unaware that his mouth was hanging open and that he hadn’t blinked in at least a full minute.

**“I do not have a human body. I have scanned records for another form to…borrow, in order to appear to you like this.”**

“In a trench coat?”

 **“It’s not necessary. Don’t talk to me,”** it reminded him. **“Nobody else can see me; you just look like that lunatic that you are to them. Think at me, the way you did before. And _walk_ , please, we don’t have all day.” **

Jeremy opened his mouth to retort, then decided against it. He resumed his sluggish pace from before, eyes still firmly planted on where the SQUIP was walking, hands shoved into its pockets and face the epitome of boredom.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The SQUIP was a smartass.

The realization was nothing new, but it wasn’t anything that was aided by the fact that Jeremy could now _see_ the SQUIP smirking at him from the corner of his vision, because there was Rich, standing outside of the store on his phone. He was leaning against the wall, face bored as he scrolled idly. He was probably waiting for somebody. If he _was_ waiting then this definitely wasn’t the best time to talk for him, but if he wasn’t then Jeremy was passing up a perfectly good opportunity to finally get some answers.

Jeremy made up his mind after bobbing on his toes for what must have been a good couple of minutes. He could practically _hear_ the SQUIP chiding him about wasting time.

How was he even supposed to ask? He couldn’t just _demand_ answers; he’d undoubtedly get his head torn off from his body in a couple of seconds flat. But if he asked _too nicely_ then he probably wouldn’t get answered at all. And that meant finding a nice middle ground, and Jeremy had never been terribly good at finding a nice middle ground where he wouldn’t get walked over like a rug. And _that_ meant—

The SQUIP claimed it didn’t have a physical embodiment, but it certainly felt like it did when it shoved Jeremy forward.

Before he could even quite register it, his feet were planted in front of Rich and he was counteracting on his entire plan.

“I want answers,” he demanded, watching Rich’s eyebrows furrow before his eyes had even left his phone.

“What?” Rich glanced up, clicking his phone off and staring up at Jeremy in confusion. It must have registered who he was talking to, however, because the confusion faded and was replaced with a smirk. “You! I was wondering when you’d come beggin’ for some answers.”

Jeremy frowned. “Do _you_ remember things from before? How did you know I’d be here?”

“Huh?” Confusion flitted across Rich’s face again, making him blink before resuming his calm stance. “First of all, you’re the one that walked up to me. Second of all, I don’t know a damn thing about your runs. I knew you’d be looking for answers eventually because, let’s face it, who wouldn’t be?”

The SQUIP made a _go on_ gesture with his hands, managing to look bored. Sometimes Jeremy hated how advanced technology had become.

“You’re the one who gave me the S—the notebook.”

“The SQUIP,” Rich agreed in a wary voice.

Jeremy nodded. “Right. The SQUIP. So you gave it to me and you know what it is. But how did you know?”

Rich was squinting at him, still wary, like he couldn’t decide if he really wanted to say anything more to Jeremy or not.

“Please,” he tried.

**“Don’t beg,”**

“I need to know a little, at least, and then I’ll leave you alone.”

**“While the lack of stuttering there was impressive, the fact that you’re sweating right now isn’t helping your case.”**

Rich rolled his eyes, kicking off of the wall and shoving his hands as far down in his pockets as they would go. “Fine. I’ll tell you a little. But I won’t elaborate on shit, so don’t ask.”

Jeremy felt his shoulders sag with relief.

“You know what the SQUIP is, which means you know what it does,” Rich jabbed his finger into Jeremy’s chest. “It probably told you how it gets around, too. Like a tick. It latches on for a while, then moves from person to person. The only people who know about it are the people who have used it.”

“That—,” Jeremy paused. “But you know about it?”

Rich scowled in reply. “So _obviously_ I’ve used it before. _I_ was pretty good at doing what I had to do with it. I managed to finish it all in six runs, and it only took me four years. The girl who had it before me said she was stuck in her loop for _ten years._ Used up all of her runs, too. Worst part is she never even got what she was trying for. She just, like, wasted her life and then failed. Now _that’s_ tough, dude.”

Jeremy chewed on his front lip. “You gave it to me.”

“Duh.”

“I meant—I meant why—me?”

“Good sentence structure, Jeremy,” Rich rolled his eyes again. “Because you needed it.”

“How would you know that? How would you know what’s going to happen to Michael?”

Rich watched Jeremy quietly. He looked like he was majorly beginning to regret agreeing to a conversation, and Jeremy wondered if he was going to start sweating, too. A couple of weeks ago Jeremy wouldn’t have even entertained the thought of going up to a guy like Rich and demanding answers that the other boy wasn’t willing to cough up. In fact, a couple of weeks ago that would have been a death sentence.

It did make Jeremy wonder for a moment, though. What could Rich have needed a SQUIP for? What could he have used it for that would have mellowed him out to the point where he would stand outside of a Wal-Mart and play along with Jeremy’s dumb question and answer game? The fact that they were still standing here while Jeremy continued his sweating and while Rich rocked back and forth on the heels of his shoes was enough to make Jeremy want to go home and forget about all of this.

But, of course, that wasn’t an option.

Not at all.

“You have a time limit, probably.” Rich finally spoke up. “I’m assuming that you’ve only got a certain amount of time because, y’know, there’s not much you can do about your problem after it happens.” Jeremy winced. “But my runs weren’t like that. My problem wasn’t preventable. I needed the SQUIP to clean up the aftermath of it.”

“What did y—,”

“ _No._ ” Rich glowered up at Jeremy. “I’m not telling you why I needed it. That shit’s personal. Don’t go around telling people about your SQUIP, Jeremy. I’m only talking to you about yours because I already know what’s going to happen. What I was trying to say was that I didn’t know _when_  needed to do things, so some of my runs went on until senior year, and others only took a couple of weeks. And, hey, we never really talked.” Rich paused, leaning back against the wall.

“We never really talked,” he continued, looking anywhere but Jeremy. “But when it happened—well. It was hard to miss. Everybody knew that it happened; it wasn’t very low-key. And the first two times I was like, yeah, that’s really sad. You know, the whole _guilt_ thing for being a dick to him for a long time.”

“But you never bother Michael,” Jeremy interrupted.

Rich shot him another scowl. “I told you I was in those loops for a long while, didn’t I? I wasn’t going to keep bullying the kid when I knew what was going to happen to him a little while later. So, yeah, I left him alone in the last couple, and you only remember my last run.”

Jeremy was silent.

“Anyway,” Rich trained his gaze on a couple walking into the store, still avoiding eye contact. “By the last one I’d figured out what I needed to do, so I got done with it pretty quickly. A _lot_ more quickly than I thought I would. And, honestly, I was just going to get rid of the SQUIP. Maybe hang onto it until I really knew somebody would need it. ‘Cept then I kept seeing him in the hallways and everything, and, like, it’s impossible to ignore somebody when you know that they’re gonna be dead soon.”

Rich swallowed hard. “And it was super weird that nobody else knew, y’know? Cause they were all still jerks and I was like, what are you doing? Why would you do that to him when you know what he’s gonna do? ‘Cept they didn’t know, so everyone kept ignoring him and everything.” Rich finally slid his gaze in Jeremy’s direction, jabbing his finger towards Jeremy’s chest. “Everybody except for you.”

Jeremy’s throat had gone dry at some point and it hurt when he spoke up. “Wh…what are you saying?”

“I’m saying you’re the only reason anybody even knew what happened. Like, Jesus Christ, that was really the reason I couldn’t just let it go. Look, to be brutally honest with you? I don’t think anybody would have known. I don’t think anybody would have cared. But seein’ you when it happened is like, shit, Jeremy, that’s not something that anybody could just let go.”

Rich tore his gaze away from Jeremy, tense and sounding unsure. “But it hadn’t happened yet, so I figured…might as well get this thing off of my hands and maybe save a nerd or two while I’m at it.”

The only thing that Jeremy could focus on was how dry his lips were. “So you gave me the SQUIP.”

“Right,” Rich agreed, voice less exuberant than it was when they first began their conversation. “I don’t know how long you’ve had it. It _feels_ like you just got it, like I just finished all my runs. But I know that’s probably not true.”

“Kind of,” Jeremy murmured, too concise to explain. “My SQUIP says that it’s been three years.”

**“And seven months. I understand that the amount of years totals to three, but  rounded it would be closer to four years. But four years gives a longer impression than three years and seven months does and, well, I’m nothing if not exact. So three years and seven months, Jeremy.”**

 He tried his best not to roll his eyes, deciding that it would probably give the wrong impression to Rich, who couldn’t see the sarcastic assistant in the corner of Jeremy’s field of vision.

“Who gave you the SQUIP?” Jeremy pressed.

Rich made a noise of disinterest, shrugging. “Chloe. Not like you have enough friends to spread that around, anyway. But I won’t hesitate to, like, strangle you if you _do_ tell anybody. Like I said, SQUIPs are personal. I don’t even know why she had it.”

Jeremy stared down at the ground. “Isn’t it a little weird? That so many people have these problems and need help from, like, something that theoretically shouldn’t even exist?”

_Nice going. Now you made this weird. If he wasn’t going to fight you before, he’ll definitely want to fight you now just for being a giant loser._

“I guess,” Rich agreed instead. “But I don’t worry about it too much. It would suck to always be worried about things that aren’t ever going to concern me.”

“You could have chosen anyone,” Jeremy blurted before he could stop himself. “You could have used it for money or to help one of your friends with something dumb. But instead you used it to save Michael, and that was really cool, and I don’t want to mess it up after you did a cool thing like that—I definitely don’t want to lose him.”

Rich blinked, watching Jeremy with eyes that suddenly seemed tired. “You won’t mess up,” he said eventually. “You better not, anyway.”

He finally straightened back up, chilling out and letting the tension seep out and away from his body. “You’re a pretty cool dude, Jeremy. We might even get along someday. And, I’m not gonna lie, I kinda wanna keep tabs on you after all of this. So—,”

“Tabs?”

“ _So,_ I’m gonna invite you to the party at the end of the month. It’s nothing special, but it’ll get you some points in the _not a loser after all_ book. Having connections is always good when you’re trying to accomplish something,” Rich put weight on the last part of his advice, like he was stressing something that he didn’t quite want to say. “Be there or don’t, I don’t really care. But it’ll be the coolest—and maybe the only—party you’ve ever been to; I can promise that much.”

Jeremy debated his options.

None of them were obvious winners. Not to mention, was it a fantastic idea to try and claw his way up a social ladder in the middle of this whole situation?

“Um, maybe,” Jeremy began. “Would I be able to bring M—,”

Rich cut him off with a wave of his hand, kicking off the wall once more and taking a couple of steps backwards like he was getting ready to go. Jeremy supposed that signaled the end of this conversation. “Bring your girlfriend or whatever,” he agreed. “It’d probably be weird to show up with a date anyway.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jeremy had several problems and he wasn’t sure how to solve any of them.

 **“You like Christine,”** the SQUIP pointed out unhelpfully. **“Invite her to the party.”**

“In what world is that a good idea?”

**“In the world where you’re expected to have a date by the end of the month, as well as in the world where Michael now believes that you and Christine hang out frequently enough for you to visit her home. If he finds out that you are lying then he will become suspicious, which I don’t recommend.”**

That narrowed down a couple of options, then.

“You want me to ask Christine to go to the party with me?” Jeremy pressed his hands to his face, wondering if he could rub his eyes hard enough to wake up from this neverending nightmare of bad ideas and awful outcomes. “How am I supposed to do that? We’ve never even talked before.”

**“So speak to her now. I can tell you things that she likes, and you can play up those topics in order to win her affections.”**

The SQUIP was making itself at home sitting in Jeremy’s chair with its feet kicked back onto the bed.

Jeremy wrinkled his nose. “Is that all that you’ve got?”

 **“It’s all that _you’ve_ got.” **The SQUIP jabbed its blue-tipped thumb in the direction of the notebook. **“Christine gets coffee at the same place every Wednesday. Show up there before her, make it look like a coincidence that you happen to be drinking coffee, too.”**

Jeremy glanced over at the notebook once more, taking a deep breath in. “I have six days to figure out a plan to ask a girl out, then,” he concluded. “This couldn’t possibly go wrong!”

 **“It won’t go wrong as long as you listen and obey,”** the SQUIP promised, looking rather pleased with itself.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

_Jeremy was sweating._

_Come to think of it, that wasn’t unusual. It felt unusual, though, like it was something that should shock him. _

_He was standing outside and it was raining, hit clothes were dripping wet, but he was standing under an awning._

_He was crying._

_He was sweating in the rain and crying and somebody was screaming. A girl was screaming somewhere, and it was close, and it was here—_

_And it was him._

_But it wasn’t Jeremy screaming, and it wasn’t Jeremy who was standing under the awning and sobbing in the rain._

_And then it was, and the rain went away.  The screaming was his own and there were hands dragging him down—no, not down, away, they were pulling him away and his eyes were squeezed shut and he was screaming and his face was wet from crying._

_“Jeremy,” the hands pleaded. “You have to_ go, _you have to_ let go.”

_And he’s chanting, he’s saying, “no, no, no, no, no,” and there’s small hands pulling at his arms until a door opens and somebody’s outside asking what’s wrong._

_It smells like weed and sweat outside, and there’s music playing from inside the building. It shuts off and dulls out to a low him when the gym doors slam shut behind them._

_“Stop thinking about him,” Christine says. “Just focus on me.”_

_~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~_


	6. September 20th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the prodigal daughter arrives

Saving Michael was beginning to feel like water over leaves.

Jeremy knew that it wasn’t as simple as it was in his head. He couldn’t just care so strongly that he would subliminally will Michael to stay around. If he could keep his friend around just by _caring,_ then logically he wouldn’t be having this problem in the first place.

Right?

Michael had never been the kind of person to depend on someone, as far as Jeremy knew. They’d met at what could reasonably be referred to as the beginning of both their lives, because it wasn’t as if they remembered anything before then, anyway, and Michael had never _needed_ anybody. When they’d first met as kindergarteners, sticky with glue from their valentine making, and Michael had glued his hands to the slide, he hadn’t needed anybody. He hadn’t even asked for help, sitting down in the pebbles and resigning himself to resting his cheek against the hot plastic. Jeremy supposed he was _glad_ that Michael had been stuck there—literally stuck—because how else would they have settled down to talk about _Pokémon: Ruby Red_ being better on GameBoy than DS?

It hadn’t mattered that Michael’s hand had been glued to a slide and that his hair had been raised above his head with the static. It hadn’t mattered and Michael hadn’t asked for help, letting himself sit and wait there until a teacher’s assistant had stumbled across them fifteen minutes after recess had ended and aided him in unsticking himself. Things were easy in kindergarten; it wasn’t a question of if they’d become friends so much as a question of where they’d sit together come lunch.

So they’d placed themselves in front of a creaky old fan, raising their voices to be able to converse over the noise of it spinning and squeaking, panting its cold breath into the hot oven of a classroom. They’d talked then and there, in the old kindergarten classroom where their hair stuck to the backs of their necks and the heat outside made the slides on the playgrounds wave like mirages through the windows.

And they’d talked even more waiting for their mothers to pick them up, legs crossed on the blistering pavement and flip-flops kicked off to the side. They’d been the last ones there, the teacher left tapping her foot impatiently and not-so-subtly checking her watch. They talked again the next day, planted on the playground once more and encapsulated in their own tiny world; their own little world where the children on the playground and the cicadas yelling in the heat were just white noise, background music to their own conversation.

Jeremy guessed, then, that they’d never really stopped talking at all. Their conversation had begun there on the kindergarten playground and had continued up to here. It would stop, almost inevitably, at some point in the future. And Jeremy wished—foolishly, he was sure—that he could tune out all the white noise again. To make it go away, to make everything quiet again so that all he would need to do was look at Michael and beg him to stay, because even if Michael had never needed anybody, Jeremy did. Jeremy didn’t need _anybody._ He needed Michael. And he was beginning to suspect that Michael needed him back in the exact same way, and that he was an absolute idiot for not coming to that realization sooner.

Jeremy had always needed Michael, plainly and simply and purely. He had needed Michael when they’d been eight and he’d broken his arm. He had needed Michael when they’d been ten and his parents had started fighting. He had needed Michael when they’d been eleven and he’d been nervous about starting middle school. He had needed Michael when they’d been thirteen and his cat had died. He had needed Michael when they’d been fifteen and his mom had left without any clue or warning or signal.

And he’d always known—he’d always _thought_ that Michael never needed him in that same plain and simple and pure way.

But perhaps he had.

Jeremy was an idiot, because Michael had never _needed_ in a plain or simple way at all. Michael’s need wasn’t the storm that Jeremy’s was, because it was quiet. Softer than a whisper, like he was worried that if he said it too loudly the rejection would be even louder.

Michael had needed Jeremy, and Jeremy didn’t know if he’d offered the same support that he’d been given.

Had he helped Michael the way that Michael had helped when he’d stayed inside during recess with Jeremy, when he couldn’t play because of his arm?

And the angrier side of Jeremy, the side that wouldn’t ever forgive Michael for leaving him in paths ripped off of the one that he was on now, wanted to shove all the blame onto his best friend. If he was hurting so badly, he could have _said so._ If something was bothering him so much, he could have _said something about it._ Jeremy didn’t even know what was wrong, and yet he was supposed to save him? By some grace of God, because Michael just kept whispering his need into empty rooms when he should have been screaming it, when he should have been kicking and clawing and screaming his need so that Jeremy could hear it and know what to do.

Jeremy’s other half, the rational half, the half that longed and ached to be able to fix a mess that he couldn’t remember, couldn’t comprehend shoving any blame at all onto Michael. Because it was _Jeremy_ who hadn’t been listening, and it was _Jeremy_ who hadn’t been watching closely enough.

But Michael wasn’t a child, he didn’t need to be supervised or monitored. And Jeremy wasn’t a mind-reader, he couldn’t listen to thing that never got said. In the end, that left the blame dangling somewhere in the middle. Maybe that’s where things went wrong, at a time that was too far away now for Jeremy to ever hope that he could fix. Maybe he’d never looked hard enough, and maybe he’d never stopped to think that Michael wasn’t as unwaveringly strong and enduringly positive as he always seemed to be.

Because maybe Michael abandoned him at some point in the future in timeline after timeline, but that didn’t change the fact that Jeremy had abandoned Michael at some point a long time ago without ever really realizing it.

And that made Jeremy a really terrible friend.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Christine got coffee at the same place every Wednesday.

 Jeremy’s plan, however halfhearted, wasn’t too terrible. He didn’t know what time she’d show up, and he certainly didn’t want to get kicked out for hanging around and creeping all day if he had to wait a couple hours. He showed up early, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and setting up at a table in the back. The SQUIP had assured him that this would work, though it hadn’t bothered with replying when Jeremy had asked if they’d done it before. It wasn’t a reassuring answer, but Jeremy would take what he could get.

He pulled out his laptop and ordered tea, figuring that they would be less likely to kick him out as long as he didn’t make too much noise and ordered something every now and then. After all, he’d just look like a student there using the free WIFI, so he’d decided it wasn’t really a big deal.

The window had heavy curtains draped over them, blocking out the light that may have streamed in otherwise. The ceiling lights weren’t bright, and wouldn’t have done much at all on their own. Most of the light came from the lights strung up along the walls, casting their own orange glow alongside the faint yellow from the ceiling lights. The floor was scraped up and dark, old hardwood with stories scraped into it and chipping away at its paint; in the dimmed lighting, it seeped into the red on the walls. There was a warm atmosphere, buzzing around with the whir of machines starting up and the hushed bustle in a back room that sat just out of view.

He watched the door, doing his very best not to stare like a creep. Jeremy had never been a fan of coffee, but Christine must have been. Caffeine of any kind tended to make Jeremy’s hands shake, stirring up an anxiety in his gut that always liked to crawl up his throat and crawl into his head. That didn’t mean he couldn’t buy _her_ a coffee, though.

He waited, fingers stilled on the keys of his laptop and foot jiggling under the table. The SQUIP positioned itself in the chair next to Jeremy, eyes dull with boredom and chin resting on his folded hands, propped up by the elbows that he rested on the table.

It spoke, now and again. Jeremy had long since realized that the SQUIP would talk sometimes purely for the sake of talking. It would tell him facts, details about life and living things that would never really be essential to know, but were interesting nonetheless.

It must have been lonely, existing with the intelligence of a living thing and yet never really existing at all.

Jeremy let it talk.

When Christine did show up, Jeremy was nearly asleep. The SQUIP, pacing by that point in time, had abruptly jolted to a halt, spinning around and jabbing its finger towards the door like a hunting dog pointing the way to a ‘coon. Jeremy shot up, fingers starting to drum on the table as his nerves caught up with him. His tea was cold by that point, and his laptop had long since fallen asleep.

 **“Don’t get nervous now, Romeo,”** reminded the SQUIP. **“You’ve got a girl to woo and a boy to save. Eyes on the prize, bud.”**

Christine was at the counter by the time that Jeremy refocused, flirting— _flirting—_ with the boy behind it. Or was she getting flirted with? It didn’t particularly matter, because the point still stood that Jeremy had come all this way and waited all this time to ask a girl to a party, only to discover that there was flirting happening fifteen feet away from him.

Not to _mention_ the fact that Christine had ordered her own coffee, which only made the entire mess more confusing. What were those receipts for if they weren’t from Jeremy’s meeting with Christine? Who was the coffee for if not for Christine?

 _This is fucked up,_ Jeremy realized, not for the first time. How many teenagers could say that they’d spent years trapped in a time loop trying to save their best friend? Not many, Jeremy was sure.

But there was Christine, leaning against the counter and brushing her hair over her shoulder. She had lip gloss on; she hadn’t ever worn makeup before—not that Jeremy knew of, at least.

The boy behind the counter, who was tall enough that he would definitely tower over Jeremy, handed her a coffee, served complete with a wink and brushing fingertips. The SQUIP stood from where it was sitting (not that Christine would have even known that it was there) and moved to stand instead behind Jeremy. It stood directly above the vent on the floor, but its trench coat didn’t flutter from the gusts.

The chair across from Jeremy scraped noisily on the ground. He turned to stare at Christine; his eyes must have been wide, because she gave him an apologetic smile as she sat down.

“The other tables are all full,” she explained, popping the lid off of her coffee and laying it gently on the table. “I figured it’d be alright to sit here since we have trigonometry together. Is that fine?”

Jeremy blanched, hands fumbling on the table. The SQUIP’s eyes rolled.

“Yeah—that’s, I—there wasn’t—yeah.” Jeremy snapped his laptop shut. “That’s fine.”

Christine finished stirring her drink. Jeremy could smell it clearly, and the smell itself was warm enough that it reminded him of a holiday. Her drink smelled like pumpkin and honey.

She smiled at him, grinning and drumming her fingers on the edge of the tabletop.

“You don’t usually wear lip gloss,” Jeremy said, instantly withering up inside as he internally hit his head against the table. The SQUIP didn’t look bothered, only bored.

“It’s a character study!” Christine shrugged off her sweater to reveal a yellow t-shirt, _Starcatchers_ dashed across it in bold, red font. “I’ve got three months to _truly_ encompass Molly as a character. If I’m going to do it in time, I’ll really have to become her, you know?”

“Uh—yeah.”

Christine smiled at him the way that a babysitter might smile at a child trying to spell the word _beautiful_ and failing. “I’m living as my character! Then, when I perform as her, I’ll really _be_ her.” She paused, tapping her coffee lid against the side of her cup once more before popping it back on. “I’m sorry—I don’t even know your name.”

Jeremy watched her fingers twine together and rest on top of the table. Christine—who was usually so energetic she practically seemed to be bouncing off the walls—was placid and nonplussed today. Was that what _living her role_ meant? He’d been in five schools plays, but Jeremy couldn’t say he understood what Christine was talking about.

“Jeremy,” he introduced, raising his hand up as he debated holding it out to Christine. He refrained, awkwardly resting his hand in the air for another few moments before lowering it into his lap. Christine practically vibrated with excited energy, not-so-subtly trying to contain it.

“Christine!” She replied, jutting her hand out into the space between them. She paused, clearing her throat and trying again. “Christine Canigula,” she repeated more calmly. “I’m an actress on the honors rolls, and I’m here to make connections. Shall we begin with ours?”

Jeremy laughed, then quickly apologized. “I’m sorry—it’s just—strange. What a coincidence, though, right?” He could feel his face heating up and turning red the way that it always did when he lied.

Christine opened her mouth to reply, but was cut short when a man brushed past the table. Jeremy glanced up to watch him shove by as he scowled down at the floor and held his cup with a death grip. His attention turned back to the table when Christine gasped loudly, pushing her chair back with a screech as she scrambled up.

Hot coffee dripped onto the floor and Christine stared down at it mournfully, taking a brief moment to scowl over her shoulder at the man who caused the mess.

“Oh—jeez,” Jeremy  hurriedly grabbed a handful of napkins and dabbing at the mess on the table. “Are you okay? That’s—that’s probably really hot. Do, uh, do you need any cold water?”

Christine sighed heavily, accepting a napkin that was offered up to her. “I’m fine, it’s mostly just on my dress…”

Jeremy tossed a wad of damp napkins into the waste bin. He made brief eye contact with the SQUIP, who held up a receipt with the name on top scribbled out. It tapped the top, giving Jeremy a knowing look.

“Oh! Uh—right, yeah—okay,” Jeremy turned back to Christine, who was watching him with a raised eyebrow. “Um—your last coffee got spilled, can I buy you another one?”

“No, that’s okay,” Christine pushed her chair back into place unhappily.

“No, really,” Jeremy insisted, pushing his own chair back. “I was just going to order, so it’s not any trouble. And, uh, it’s nice outside, we wouldn’t even have to sit at a wet table. That’d—that’d be nice, right?”

Christine glanced over towards Jeremy, eyebrows furrowed. The crease in her forehead smoothed out and she nodded, clasping her hands in front of her. “I guess I can’t say no to a free drink. Can I get tea, though? I wasn’t too sure about the coffee in the first place.”

“It’s those coincidences,” Jeremy reasoned, moving to stand at the counter.

The boy from before—the one who’d flirted with Christine—turned his way, holding up a finger to signal that he’d be a moment.

“That’s Jake,” Christine said. “He’s on the football team. And the lacrosse team. And the soccer team. And he’s in the environmentalists club. He’s in band, too. He a _percussionist.”_

“Your boyfriend?” Jeremy asked, pretending his voice wasn’t as bitter as he knew it really was.

Christine just laughed, gesturing forward when Jake turned back to them.

It took everything in Jeremy’s power not to glare while he ordered.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

They ended up walking around the city park, Christine swaying while she walked and seeming to forget that she was attempting to live as her character as she gabbered on and on about whatever seemed to be on her mind at the moment.

“There’s a play that I’d love for the school to approve,” she practically hummed. “Except they’re never going to.”

“Oh—um, why not? You seem really passionate about it.”

Christine’s toes scruffed the ground. “We don’t have enough people. We would need at least two more cast members, and a crew member or two more for sure. If we could get more people to sign up we would have a green light for sure! But theater’s just not as popular as it used to be…” She turned to him with a wide frown, fingers fiddling once more. “I was born in the wrong era, Jeremy. People used to really _appreciate_ drama! Now the only drama they love is who’s dating whom.”

“Whom?”

“Used instead of ‘who’ as the object of a verb or preposition,” Christine replied absentmindedly.

“I could get three people to join your play,” Jeremy blurted, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. Christine halted alongside him, squinting at him from out of the corner of her eye.

“Why?”

“Does it matter why?” Jeremy asked nervously, watching the SQUIP pause in its stroll a little ways ahead of them.

“Um, _yes,_ ” Christine scoffed. “I just learned your name and now you want to help with my play? Not that I’m saying I don’t want your help, but I don’t want your help if it’s for some dumb, perverted reason!”

“No, um—wait—,”

“Do you like me or something? Is that why you bought me coffee?”

“ _Christine,_ ” Jeremy focused on her rather than the way that the SQUIP was trying to ad-lib what to say from his peripheral. “This might sound a little creepy—,”

“Then don’t say it!”

“But I already knew you were really into theater—not in a stalkerish way! I just knew that because you talk about it a lot and you’re really passionate, so, y’know, probably everybody knows that about you. W-which isn’t a bad thing! I think it’s a really good thing, actually,” Jeremy rambled. “And it’s kind of nice to see somebody being so passionate about something.”

“I don’t date people I just met, you know. I’m not that kind of girl.” Christine watched him over the tip of her nose. _“Not_ that there’s anything wrong with those types of girls.”

“I’m not trying to _date_ you,” Jeremy corrected her. “I mean, you’re a really nice girl! And I liked talking with you so far, but you’re just…um, you’re—?”

“Are you trying to find a fake date or something? To convince people you’re not dating Michael?”

“Well, I guess—,” Jeremy felt his face flush. “Except I’m not dating Michael, actually. I just needed a date to the Halloween party in a couple weeks.”

“Right,” Christine replied, in a tone that implied that she absolutely did not believe a word of what he was saying. “Look, Jeremy. I support you, and I need those cast members for my play. So I’ll throw you a bone—,”

“I’m not gay,”

“—if you get two more cast members and a crew member to sign up, I’ll go to the Halloween party with you. But you better not go around telling any more dumb lies that’ll make you need another fake girlfriend, because this is just a one-time thing. Since you bought me tea, of course.”

Christine smiled at him, nodding as if they’d just worked out a give-and-take agreement.

A bird sang somewhere behind them and heat beat down on them hard enough to make Jeremy wonder if the summer had ever really gone away at all.

 **“Stop staring,”** the SQUIP advised. **“You look like an idiot. You didn’t pay eight dollars to say no to her offer, did you?”**

“Okay,” Jeremy agreed, jolting. “I’ll find you more cast members. Um—the party is on the twentieth thirtieth.”

"Isn't that a little early for a  _Halloween_ party?"

"It's not _mine,_ I didn't plan the date," Jeremy defended anxiously. "I'm just going to it." 

Christine grinned, holding her tea up as if it were a peace offering. “Then I’ll see you around, huh? The first practice is next Monday. If you can get two people to show up, _then_ we can plan for your Halloween party.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            _Everything hurt. It didn’t feel shocking, nor did the pain jolt up his spine the way that it usually did. There was nothing unique or new about the aching feeling that was settling over his bones, and Jeremy felt small. It was cold outside, wherever he was, though he didn’t have much concern for that at the moment. When he closed his eyes, he saw flashes of red and blue painted across the insides of his eyelids. When his eyes opened up again afterward, however, the lights were gone and it was silent. There was only snow there, falling down around him and highlighting the fact that he must not have moved for a very long time. The pavement around him had been coated with a soft white layer that seemed to glow in the lighting casted down on it from the streetlamps, and Jeremy watched for just a few moments—mesmerized when he saw the way that the snow looked falling down under the yellow lights in what must have been the very middle of the night._

 _The entire sky lit up for a moment, and when it was dark again Jeremy was reminded of the pain that was gnawing its way throughout his entire being. It came from all over, sharpest in his stomach, where hunger bit at him alongside the aching. His fingertips were too numb to feel, but Jeremy found himself grateful for it. He had a feeling they would have hurt a lot more than his stomach had they_ not _been numbed. His feet, on the other hand, were cold and wrapped up in soggy boots and damp socks. When he glanced down, he noted the fact that he must have been a child. The boots were small, and Jeremy had never seen them before in his life._

_The youth mixed with the biting cold and fierce hunger made him want to cry, and he very nearly did burst into tears._

_“Hey, buddy,” a voice said from behind him, and Jeremy scrambled towards it. The voice—though Jeremy himself didn’t recognize it—was warm, and came with the feeling of reassurance. “What are you doing outside?”_

_“I don’t have a key,” the boy blubbered, holding his wet mittens up to the older boy. “My hands are cold. I can’t feel my fingers, Lee. Dad said to wait here, ‘cept he didn’t come back yet. Did you see him? Is he okay?”_

_The older boy’s face molded into a distasteful expression, and it clearly took effort to try and push the hatred away and smile back. “Yeah, he’s alright, bud. He’s just a little late.”_

_~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~_

**Message From:** Michael Mell (Player One)

 **Message To:** Jeremy Heere (Player Two)

 **Message Subject:** (Untitled)

_Can I come over?_


	7. September 21st-October 12th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael's foundation is beginning to crack, just a little, and Jeremy takes the time to marvel at his own embarrassing lack of bravery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter eight is where the plot picks up and it starts to get intense, so this is the last boring supplement chapter before it all starts getting good.

Michael showed up with messy hair, skewing out to the sides in a way that probably would have been a little endearing, if he hadn’t looked so stressed. 

“What’s--?” Jeremy began, but Michael cut him off before he could finish by holding up a game wrapped in a plastic sleeve. 

“Can we just play?” He asked, and Jeremy stepped to the side to let him in. Jeremy’s dad wasn’t home, and they both knew it, but it wasn’t not a big deal. They were old enough to look after themselves, obviously, and Michael’s radiating an energy that made Jeremy glad, for whatever reason, that there was nobody else home to hear whatever it was that Michael’s going to say to him. 

They went up to Jeremy’s room, Michael taking the steps two at a time and Jeremy trailing along behind him a little more slowly. When they reached the top and closed the door, sliding into the beanbag chairs in the way that they’re so used to, Jeremy wondered why it suddenly felt so different here. It was the same room that they always sat together in, the same chairs and the same place and the same TV, but it felt foreign, almost. 

They played anyway. Michael picked up the red controller and Jeremy picked up the blue. They slouched back and gave themselves scoliosis and played the same level over and over again, dying in new places each time and never making it until the end. 

They didn’’t speak. Not for a really long time, anyway. They sat with their shoulders touching, pressed together close enough that Jeremy could easily feel the heat that was radiating off of Michael and all of his layers. There were two beanbags, they could have easily spread out and seen the TV screen just fine, but they had always sat close. They had always sat with their shoulders touching and their beanbag chairs squished together on the floor of Jeremy’s bedroom, and it was habitual to play that way by that point. The SQUIP was sitting at Jeremy’s desk, legs propped up on the table and slouched back into a chair of its own. It was drumming its fingers on the table (not that it was making any noise) and following the seconds hand on the clock with its eyes.

Michael cleared his throat after they died for what must have been the hundredth time. Jeremy waited for a moment, expecting Michael to say something, but he didn’t. After another beat, Jeremy started the level again. 

They were  in the middle of a boss level when Michael did speak. 

“I’m trying,” he said, voice sounding exasperated. 

Jeremy blinked. “Uh, yeah,” he said, because what was he  _ supposed  _ to say? 

“No,” Michael shook his head. “I’m  _ trying. _ Everybody keeps saying to take little steps, because slow progress is better than no progress, but--Jesus, how long have we even been doing this? We’ve been here for like an hour, and we haven’t even cleared this level. I’m trying, but--,” Michael’s voice cut off, suddenly out of breath and exhausted. “They aren’t little steps. They’re fucking ginormous.” 

Jeremy processed. 

The SQUIP had looked away from the clock, over at them, thinking and computing so intensely that Jeremy could see its eyes running the numbers and watching Michael like a hawk that had just spotted dinner. But it was still computing, for minute after minute, and if a supercomputer couldn’t figure out what to say to Michael, then how was Jeremy supposed to? 

Jeremy felt guilt pang in his gut when it occurred to him how easily he’d given up. 

“I know they’re small steps,” Michael said, and his voice sounded strained. He sounded like he was trying to stop words from pouring out, and was just saying whatever managed to slip through the cracks. His voice was stressed with the effort of all his careful thought. Jeremy could see the way that his hands were shaking, and the way that Michael’s eyes were locked onto the ground. “They’re such small, easy steps to everybody else. But it’s like I’m doing it on hard mode. And I suck at it. They’re tiny steps, but they’re the biggest steps I’ve ever taken, and I’m  _ trying. _ ” 

Jeremy opens his mouth to say something, to say  _ anything,  _ but he stops himself. Because what’s he going to say?  _ It’s okay?  _ The journal had been pretty adamant against saying  _ it’s okay, _ and Jeremy’s head was so busy reeling that it felt like he was wading through a swamp. 

Michael’s eyes were weary, staring back into Jeremy’s like he could find an answer there. Jeremy’s own eyes slid over to the SQUIP’s, but it seemed nobody was going to find the answer that they were looking for. 

“Michael,” he said, finally, because the silence was dragging on forever and the SQUIP had gone back to watching the clock. “What’s going on?” 

Michael’s lips twitched, his expression flickered, and he sunk back down into the chair. 

“ _ Michael,”  _ Jeremy tried again. “Talk to me, man. We talk about  _ everything,  _ we can talk about this. What’s going on with you? What’s...are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” Michael sounded tired, and Jeremy knew that he wasn’t okay at all. Michael didn’t talk about things, not even a little bit. The only things that he told Jeremy were the things that he conveyed with his eyes, and he left everything else open for interpretation. He was talking now, though, with shaking hands and nervous energy pouring off of him, and even though he was saying he was okay, Jeremy still worried.

“Are you?” 

“Of course I am,” Michael murmured. “I’m chill. I’m chillin’. That’s what I do best.”  

“Would you tell me if you weren’t?” Jeremy’s hand twitched at his side as he tried to decide whether or not it would be unsolicited to rest it on Michael’s. “You can--you can tell me anything, right?” 

“‘Course.” 

Jeremy swallowed, nodding and flicking his eyes up to Michael’s. 

“I need to get home,” Michael’s voice was flat, and his fingers tangled in the aglets on his sweater. “I told my mom I’d be back for dinner.” 

Jeremy didn’t point out that it was barely past five, or that Michael’s family never ate dinner until eight or nine. He just nodded, mouth twisting into a frown, and offered out his hand to help Michael up. Michael stood on his own, putting the red controller onto the charger stand and avoiding any eye contact at all until he had reached the bottom steps and was tugging on his shoes. 

He offered Jeremy a little grin, standing up and balancing on his heels, rocking back and forth just a little. “Sorry, man,” he apologized. “Ignore all that. I’m just really tired with finals and everything coming up.” 

And then he was gone, out the door with a soft click behind him, and Jeremy was left to just stand there and wonder what anything meant right now, and what in the world was going on. The world was going to end, and Jeremy could stop it. He could  _ stop  _ the world from ending if he knew how, if he knew what to say or where to go. But he didn’t.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

**Message from: Jeremy Heere (Player Two)**

**Message to: Michael Mell (Player One)**

**Message Subject: Untitled**

Please talk to me

  


**(Message draft  deleted.)**

  


**Message from: Jeremy Heere (Player Two)**

**Message to: Michael Mell (Player One)**

**Message Subject: Untitled**

Talk to me?

  


**(Message draft deleted.)**

  


**Message from: Jeremy Heere (Player Two)**

**Message to: Michael Mell (Player One)**

**Message Subject: Untitled**

Are you okay?

  


**(Message draft deleted.)**

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jeremy hadn’t seen Michael in four days. His friend hadn’t shown up to school, and when Jeremy had texted him, Michael had just told him it was just influenza. That was plausible. It was flu season, and it had gotten to the point of only having six kids in Jeremy’s history class that day. It didn’t seem like a  _ lie,  _ but it was still weird to Jeremy to hear. He could recall with complete clarity what it had been like to get the flu when they had been little. When Michael had been sick, Jeremy had been sick right alongside him. They would stay home, slyly hassling their parents into letting them stay home together. After all, they’d both already been sick, right? 

They would stay home, sweaty and pathetic on the couch in Michael’s living room. The TV would play something they didn’t recognize, old and grainy, because all of the kids were supposed to be at school. So they’d turn off the cable and play movies, and since Michael’s parents didn’t usually buy DVDs, they’d always watch the same ones. Matilda in the morning, Marley while they tried to choke down soup, and Back to the Future in the evenings. Jeremy didn’t recall ever making it through that one; he was always tired when he was sick. He would probably pass out even earlier than that, but Michael always cried when he watched Marley and Me. He always insisted on watching it, but he always sobbed when the dog died. Even if Jeremy could barely keep his eyes open, he wasn’t going to just  _ sleep  _ while his best friend cried over a dog he’d never even met. 

So, Michael had the flu. And—aside from the fact that he probably wasn’t having a great time—that was all good and well. But why hadn’t he texted Jeremy? Why weren’t they on the couch in his living room, watching dumb movies and piling up tissues? Jeremy may not have been sick the first day, but he undoubtedly would be sick by the next day. 

But Michael hadn’t asked. He hadn’t even texted first. If Jeremy hadn’t texted him, would Michael have even texted him at all? Or would he just have let Jeremy wonder? 

It was almost ironic. Right now, when all Jeremy could think about was how much he cared about Michael, did Michael not care  _ at all?  _

Had Michael stopped caring? Is that why this never worked? Because Jeremy could try as hard as possible, but at the end of the day Michael still wouldn’t bother to give him the time of day? They were best friends! They were supposed to be healthy together, they were supposed to have the  _ flu  _ together, they were supposed to throw up and cry over dogs together. 

Right? 

But they were’t. And Michael hadn’t even texted him more than three words in the last four days. 

So Jeremy had shrugged it off. Whatever, right? Maybe it was just a really bad flu. But Michael hadn’t come after that, and he hadn’t come the day after that, either. And then it was the weekend. Then, when Michael  _ did  _ show up, it had been eight days. 

Jeremy couldn’t name a single time in their lives since they’d been five years old where they hadn’t seen each other for eight days. Not even vacations or school breaks had kept them apart for that long. 

He didn’t want to be pathetic about it. He wished he could just gracefully accept the end of an era and move on. Nobody kept their kindergarten best friend forever. It was time to just shrug it off and find somebody knew. Grow up. 

But Jeremy wasn’t ready to shed his friend. He wasn’t ready to lose Michael, who had been there when they’d started middle school, and high school, and who’d been there when Jeremy’s mom had. He’d been there when they’d been little, so little, and when Jeremy’s mom had been the maddest that he could ever remember her being. He knew, now, that she had been mad about something that nobody could change. She had wanted lots of kids, boys and girls who would depend on her and excel and impress her every day. But she’d only been able to have one. Just one, and she’d been mad. 

It had been a festering anger, something that simmered below the surface for a long time. And then, when his fourth grade report card had come, all the simmering anger had exploded. Because, oh, what nerve Jeremy had, disrespecting his mother like that. Disrespecting his mother, because she had only been able to have one kid, and he’d had to go and be a failure. 

But Michael had been there. 

And Michael wasn’t there now. 

And as much as Jeremy wanted it to be different, that hurt. It hurt that Michael had just yanked himself out of Jeremy’s life like that with no warning at all. So when Michael slid into his seat in math on Monday,  Jeremy didn’t say anything to him. He figured that if this was all some big miscommunication, that if Michael had lost his phone at some point and been too sick to text before that, then Michael would speak up now and say so.

But Michael didn’t say anything to Jeremy, and he didn’t look up. Jeremy glowered down at his paper for the entirety of the class, and when the bell rang, Michael stood up and slid out of the room without saying a single word to his friend. 

It stung, if Jeremy was being honest. The SQUIP didn’t seem concerned with any of it, plopping itself down in Michael’s empty seat and raising its eyebrows at Jeremy. It had the nerve to look smug. 

“Shut up,” Jeremy hissed, gathering his bag up off of the ground and marching out of the classroom. What had he done? What had changed between them in the last few days? Jeremy couldn’t recall anything different happening. 

Maybe that was it. Maybe Michael was bored. Everybody got bored eventually, but Michael had been different. Jeremy had  _ thought  _ that Michael had been different. 

The SQUIP followed along after Jeremy, throwing offended looks at every student that walked through it. 

“They can’t even see you,” Jeremy snapped. The SQUIP crinkled its eyes and scowled, marching along the halls to Spanish. It almost seemed like a real person, with the way that it was moodily trudging with its hands shoved deep into its pockets. 

“Stop panicking,” it advised him. “You’re getting worked up over nothing.” It paused, eyes sliding sideways. “Well, nothing you can fix.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jeremy demanded. “I can fix him. Just tell me what you know.” 

“I can’t do that,” it drawled, waving one of its hands vaguely. “I have rules.” 

“Then break them!” 

“I can’t do that either. I’m not a human, Jeremy, I do not disobey. I have a protocol, and I follow it. It’s not very hard to understand, to those who aren’t simple-minded.” 

Jeremy scoffed, and then scoffed again—just for effect. “You aren’t telling me what I’m supposed to do now. Isn’t that your job? Isn’t that the whole reason that you’re here?” 

“No.” The SQUIP replied. “I’m here to guide you. But I cannot influence your choices much more than that.” 

“Then influence me  _ now.  _ Just give me a hint. I want to help him.” 

He might have sounded desperate. Or maybe he just sounded eager, or just polite enough that the SQUIP was showing a little bit of mercy. But either way, he received his hint. 

“The world doesn’t revolve around you, slugger. Everything you’re thinking right now is in your head, just like me. You didn’t do anything, and you know that. This is called the process of elimination, and you’re supposed to eliminate things once you conclude that they’re false. You’ve failed to do the most simple step, and though I’m not surprised, I’ll walk you through it.

“You didn’t cause this, so move past that. If it wasn’t you, Jeremy, then what was it? Deep deeper than the surface, because I’m sure you’ve already figured out that everything happening right now is much bigger than it all seems like it should be. Michael comes first. He comes before Christine, before any party, and before any play. Forget about those dumb kids and their hobbies, and let me guide you.” 

Jeremy thought. And he thought some more. If it wasn’t  _ him,  _ then why was Michael ignoring him? The SQUIP huffed. 

“Jeremy, how long do you stay home when you get the flu?” It prompted. 

“A day or two. Why?” 

The SQUIP was silent for an admirable three seconds before it covered its face with its hands and sank down into a chair. 

“How long was  _ Michael  _ gone?” 

“Technically five days, but—,” 

The SQUIP cut him off. “Shut up. Why did Michael tell you that he was gone?” 

“The flu. We’ve been over that, I don’t—,” 

“You’re hopeless,” the SQUIP informed him. “It’s idiots like you who stay in these loops forever and don’t ever get anywhere.” 

“Then do your job!” Jeremy snapped. It frowned back at him, obviously displeased with his tone.  _ Let it be mad,  _ Jeremy thought bitterly.  _ It’s not like it really has feelings anyway. It’s probably just been guilt tripped into making me feel bad.  _

The SQUIP gave it another shot. “You went eight days without seeing Michael. The flu takes two days for recovery. If Michael had the flu, why was he gone for so long, if the recovery period for that illness is so short?” 

Jeremy blinked. “You don’t think that he was actually recovering?” 

“I do think he was recovering.” The SQUIP disagreed. “He was moving stiffly, which suggests sore muscles. Also, he wasn’t paying very much attention. He tends to watch closely in math, but did not today. My diagnostics blame a headache.” 

The bell rang again. Jeremy was late to class by now, but couldn’t really find it in himself to care. There were more pressing issues, but in a true Jeremy fashion, he wasn’t going to think about them quite yet. Right now, at least, everything felt too heavy to handle. Michael had always been the one that kept cool under pressure. He had probably been the sole reason that Jeremy had gotten through so many things. But…why wasn’t Jeremy the same support for Michael? 

He shoved it from his mind. Michael hadn’t been gone because of the flu, which meant he was not only ignoring Jeremy, but he was  _ lying  _ to Jeremy, too. And Jeremy supposed that was a little hypocritical, because yeah, he’d been lying to Michael for a long time now, but that was for Michael’s own good. It was to  _ help  _ Michael, and Jeremy was sure that eventually Michael would know the whole truth. 

It was too complex, in Jeremy’s opinion. Whoever had invented the world hadn’t really thought through an easy cheat code for saving one’s best friend.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Michael spent the next week adamantly ignoring Jeremy. It wasn’t as if Jeremy wasn’t trying, either, because Jeremy was trying as hard as he could. But this--this was uncharted territory. Michael had  _ never  _ ignored Jeremy before, and Jeremy had never expected for him to suddenly begin doing so with no prior warning. 

Jeremy would speak, and Michael’s eyes wouldn’t even move. And it became exhausting. 

And the worst part about it, Jeremy decided guiltily, wasn’t even the part where he wasn’t talking to Michael anymore. The worst part about it was how invisible, and how stupid, it was all beginning to make him feel. 

He felt stupid because he’d never even attempted to talk to anybody besides Michael. Jeremy had been pretty small when he’d decided that it wasn’t worth it, that it wasn’t worth getting teased and let down when all he ever really needed was Michael. But, not for the first time, Jeremy was struck with the realization that you couldn’t get through life with just one friend. Normal people didn’t have to spend all their time alone when their friend got mad at them, because normal people had other friends to go to for support. 

But Jeremy didn’t, and for that he felt like an absolute moron. 

Jeremy felt invisible, too, because he was talking, and talking, and talking, but Michael wasn’t even acknowledging that he existed. It felt like talking to a brick wall. It was stirring up an emotion in him that he hadn’t felt in a long time; more than a year, at the very least. 

He felt desperate, and exhausted, and like he was surrounded by a bubble of glass. His thoughts were complex and enormous, but wouldn’t filter down to his mouth. There was no way to   _ explain  _ them in a way that other people would understand. It made him realize, sometimes, that he was different, and suddenly he felt like he was sticking out all the time like a sore thumb. 

Jeremy felt like he was talking to his mom. Like it hadn’t been almost two years since she left, and like they were in his mom’s car again, home in the garage after a trip to the store, but neither getting out. He felt like he was there again, seatbelt gripped so tightly between his fists that his knuckles were turning white, and he was floundering. He was looking for words, to try and explain to her how he felt, but when he managed to find some, he didn’t say them. Because she would get mad if he did. Because she would snap at him and he’d have to fumble to try and correct himself, and he’d turn his words into a mess. Jeremy would stutter through it all and speak, and speak, and speak, until he felt like he was practically screaming. 

He always felt like he was yelling at the top of his lungs whenever he spoke to his mom, screaming and screaming to try and be loud enough for her to understand what he was saying. But he was in that glass bubble, and she couldn’t ever hear, and nobody could ever hear. 

_ “I can’t do that,”  _ he would tell her, about simple things, about ordering his own food and about trying out for clubs. And she would look at him, all disappointed, and she would roll her eyes. 

_ “Then don’t let it bother you,”  _ she’d say.  _ “Stop overthinking it. Stop letting it bother you.” _

And he would try, and try, and try.  _ “It’s not like that. It doesn’t work the same for me. I can’t do that.” _

Jeremy always felt like he screamed those words, like he was just too soft and couldn’t hear him, and maybe if she did then she would understand. 

But in the car, she didn’t understand. They sat in the garage and his mom started crying, and she looked at him, right in the eyes. She sounded desperate. 

_ “I don’t understand you, _ ” she had said to him, like a knife stabbing him in the gut.  _ “You don’t make sense to me anymore. _ ” 

Jeremy had imagined a knife, then, in the garage. Stabbing him in the gut over and over again, because it wasn’t just in his head anymore. His therapist had told him that it was, that when he felt like he was speaking and not making any sense and being misunderstood, it was all in his head. But hearing his mom, his  _ mom,  _ tell him that he was just gabbering senselessly? 

Jeremy felt the knife in his gut again, now, except this time it was digging further, because it wasn’t his mom who didn’t get him. It was Michael on the other side of the bubble, ignoring Jeremy and making him feel like he was so, so quiet. 

But it hit Jeremy like a tidal wave that  _ this  _ was the reason why he couldn’t ever save Michael. He couldn’t format words into what they need to be, he couldn’t say things without flushing and taking it all back, and he  _ knew  _ what he needed to say, but he doesn’t know how to say it--he wasn’t  _ brave  _ enough to say it. 

He knew it, and he knew it well. Jeremy was a coward, and he wouldn’t ever be brave enough to save Michael. But it was  _ Michael,  _ and like hell Jeremy was going to give up just because he was going to fail. 

_ Stop overthinking it, _ his mother snapped in his mind.  _ You’re making things up again, Jeremy. It’s not that bad. _

This was Michael, this was  _ Michael, Michael, Michael,  _ and Jeremy wanted to pour his guts out to his best friend now more than ever. He wanted Michael to just sit and listen the way that he always used to, and he wanted to talk, and talk, and talk, and beg Michael to just listen and to just be okay, and he wanted for Michael to listen. 

_ If you have something to say, _ Jeremy’s mother chided from the back of his mind.  _ Then say it. _

**“Say it,”** the SQUIP agreed, sounding bored while it picked under its fingernails. 

“I don’t know what to say,” Jeremy disagreed nervously. 

**“You know exactly what to say,”** It argued, eyes still stapled to the clock.  **“You’re just too nervous to say it. You’re just worried about what Michael’s going to say back. But when are you going to realize that you generally don’t matter right now, in the grand scheme of things? If it’s going to help Michael, or if it has the capability to do so, then I would** **_highly_ ** **suggest doing it.”**

“How am I supposed to talk to him when he won’t even look at me?” Jeremy snapped, tired and irritated. “I’ve been  _ trying _ to talk to him.”

**“Try harder,”** the SQUIP snarked right back.  **“Call him.”**

“And if he doesn’t answer?” 

**“Then you leave a voice message in his inbox, Sherlock.”**

Jeremy glowered down at the ground, not willing to admit that the SQUIP was right. It probably knew it was right, anyway. It had claimed to not  _ come programmed  _ with the ability to gloat, but Jeremy was fairly certain that it was incredibly smug all the time. He didn’t want to admit that he was going to have to call Michael, anyway. 

Jeremy didn’t like phone calls. Michael didn’t either, Jeremy knew, but Michael didn’t have a  _ problem _ with them, really. They always texted, anyway, because it was faster and easier and more productive than sitting on a line and listening to each other breathe for hours while they tried to remember what they were calling for. But Jeremy called anyway. In the heat of the moment Jeremy called Michael, because he always called Michael when the world was ending. 

The line rang, and rang, and rang. It beeped, and Jeremy took a breath and squeezed his eyes shut. He pretended like he was writing out a message, like he could just delete the draft if he finished and decided that it would be too embarrassing. 

“You’re avoiding me, and I don’t know why, but I’m sorry if I did something. Um, if I  _ did  _ do something, could you...tell me? I’m still--I’m still sorry, I just, um, don’t know what I did. And if I didn’t do something, then--then can you still talk to me? Because you’ve been sad lately, and you can be sad, but--but I don’t want you to be, so...sorry. Sorry, um, this is dumb. Please talk to me, Michael. Whether everything is fine or not, because I--,”

The message ended, and Jeremy swallowed hard.

_ Because I care a lot about you and I just want you to be alright. _

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

_ “Write down what you wish for,” a girl was whispering. “But don’t show anybody what you write. I won’t show you what I write, so don’t even ask.”  _

_ Jeremy’s hands--smaller than he remembered them and definitely not his own, picked up a Sharpie from off the ground. His legs itched from the grass he was sitting on, and the air smelled like bonfire smoke. A piece of paper was in his lap. He bent his knees so that nobody else could see what he wrote, uncapping the pen and writing gently, so that the ink wouldn’t bleed through the paper and onto his pants.  _

_ I want to go home. _

_ The girl to his left capped her own Sharpie, folding up her paper. Jeremy did the same, folding it tightly so that it wouldn’t open up and reveal the words.  _

_ “And now,” the girl from before announced, standing and holding her page in the air. “We burn them.”  _

_ “What?” A boy to Jeremy’s right gasped, sounding affronted by the idea. “Why would we burn our wishes? They can’t come true, then.”  _

_ The kids in the circle couldn’t be older than nine or ten.  _

_ The girl stuck her nose up snottily. “They will come true, but only if we burn them. The smoke will go so high that the dreams will always be there, and someday they’ll float back down and we’ll get them for sure. They’ll reach God faster that way, too.”  _

_ “Can we write more than one?” Jeremy asked,voice timid.  _

_ The girl thought about it for a moment. “Yes,” she decided finally. “But not too many.”  _

_ He unfolded the paper. _

_ I want to go home. I want everything to be the way that it was before. I want Mom to feel better. I want Dad to find a job. I want _

_ “Jake,” the girl snapped. “You’re taking too long. Put it in the fire, already!”  _

_ Jeremy scrambled up on tiny legs, folding his paper again sloppily and dropping his page into the bonfire. He watched it wrinkle up, burning orange and yellow and curling in on itself before turning black and shrinking into ash.  _

_ “Is it really going to come true?”  _

_ “Duh,” the girl’s eyes trailed up, and Jeremy’s gaze followed. The smoke was just as high as she had promised it would be. “If you deserve it, then it’ll happen.”  _

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 


	8. October 12th-October 20th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And, hell, Jeremy wasn’t a very observant guy, but even he knew when someone didn’t want to be followed. Without thinking, he did the only logical thing: he followed Michael. 
> 
> // 
> 
> This week: high school parties are attended and bad choices are made 
> 
> Next week: Chloe and Jake make an entrance, play practice begins, and the deadline draws ever nearer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work has been on hiatus for almost a year, and I apologize for that. I had mentioned while I was still updating this that my mental health had taken a decline and I was overwhelmed. I was in a really bad place in my life and mentally, and took some time to get that together. 
> 
> I'm doing incredibly well now, however, and am genuinely happy with the path my life is beginning to take. Therefore, I'm taking Dirty Water off its hiatus and beginning work on it once more. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who stuck around to see this through, and to everyone who's just reading through it for the first time! 
> 
> /// 
> 
> NOTE: The SQUIP's lines are no longer bolded. It didn't look appealing to me anymore, so I didn't use it for this chapter. Let me know if you prefer it bolded or not!

Jeremy hadn’t stopped calling Michael. Like a cycle, he called morning, noon, and night. Nobody ever picked up, and he had a feeling nobody was listening to the voice mails, either; but he kept calling anyway.

Michael missed school more often than he attended, and when he was there he took steps to make sure Jeremy wouldn’t have a chance to talk to him. The SQUIP neither offered help nor seemed bothered by any of it, which gave Jeremy at least a little hope. All the same, he was growing sick of the radio silences from every angle.

Jeremy didn’t know what he had done wrong. He’d wracked his brain for days straight, coming up empty again and again. If he had done something, it must have been bad, for Michael to have reacted like this. If he hadn’t done something, then he didn’t know why he was being cut out. It was lose-lose no matter how Jeremy looked at it.

Not to mention, Christine was irritated with him for missing the first play rehearsal. Between Michael’s weird behavior and everything else going on, the rehearsal had somehow slipped his mind. It had taken two more coffees and a plethora of apologies for her to give him another week to collect new members for the show, but Jeremy doubted he’d be able to reach that goal, either.

He wasn’t on anyone’s good side, lately.

The SQUIP let him flounder for four more days. Then, after nearly two weeks of going ignored by Michael, the computer showed some mercy.

“Have you considered talking to Michael in person?”It asked, drumming its fingers on Jeremy’s desk as Jeremy’s call was cut off for what must have been the thirteenth time that day. It didn’t even ring anymore. Jeremy had enough common sense to know that he’d been blocked. It didn’t stop him from trying.

Jeremy grit his teeth. “He doesn’t let me get within ten feet of him at school. Don’t you think I’ve thought of that?”

“I know you’ve thought of it. I’m in your head.” The SQUIP sounded bored. “But I didn’t mean at school. He doesn’t exactly live in another city, does he? Go to his house.”

“That won’t work,” Jeremy groaned, putting his head in his hands. He didn’t know for a fact that it wouldn’t work, but the outlook wasn’t great. If he got lucky and Michael answered the door, he’d probably just get it closed in his face. If he was bold, he might sacrifice a foot to keep the door from shutting all the way. “He won’t talk to me.”

“I’m not asking you to go over. I’m telling you to.”

Jeremy had half a mind not to go. There was a nagging, awful part of him that didn’t care enough to go over to Michael’s. He hadn’t stopped _caring,_ but the situation had been heavy from the beginning. It was like caring a thirty-pound weight while running errands. It hadn’t been heavy, at first, but after walking with it long enough, Jeremy was starting to feel exhausted from the pull. It was tiring, and he wasn’t getting anywhere. The situation was worse now than it had been before, if nothing else, and the SQUIP hadn’t offered help in weeks—now this was what it gave him?

Jeremy acquiesced.

Tired, he stood, picking his coat up off of his bed and leaving his room. The SQUIP followed like a dog. His dad wasn’t home, so Jeremy locked the door behind him. He walked at a snail’s pace, dragging out the walk as long as he could. Skillfully, he turned a twenty-minute walk into a thirty-minute walk.

As he turned onto Michael’s familiar street, the SQUIP came to an abrupt stop in front of him. Jeremy stumbled to a halt behind it on instinct. Michael’s front door was open, and he was standing on the front porch, rummaging through a black backpack. The SQUIP shoved Jeremy behind the neighbor’s bush.

Michael continued to dig until he found what he was looking for, pulling out a silver key and locking his front door behind him as he pulled it shut. As he turned, Jeremy caught sight of two things.

One being Michael throwing his house key into one of his bushes, rather than taking it with him, and two being the bandages that ran from Michael’s left elbow to his wrist. Before Jeremy had time to try and figure out what the hell he was doing, Michael was pulling on a hoodie and taking off with his hood over his face.

And, hell, Jeremy wasn’t a very observant guy, but even he knew when someone didn’t want to be followed. Without thinking, he did the only logical thing: he followed Michael.

The other boy knew where he was going, and he walked quickly.

Jeremy kept his distance, far enough back that his footsteps wouldn’t be audible and he wouldn’t get caught if Michael looked over his shoulder, but close enough to catch where he turned and follow the same trail.

He followed Michael for almost thirty minutes, ducking in and out of different back roads and cutting through lawns into a wealthy neighborhood. Somewhere, a bass was booming, and Jeremy could only cross his fingers that Michael wouldn’t keep walking towards the noise.

Michael kept walking towards the noise.

The source of the noise was a looming blue house with cars parked on its front lawn. Michael cut across the yard, pushing open the front door without knocking and slipping in. Jeremy stayed where he was for a long second, unsure of how to proceed. On the one hand, his gut was screaming at him to keep following Michael. On the other hand, the darker it got outside, and the more Jeremy wanted to start on his way home before it got too dark out.

Stay or go?

_Stay or go?_

The SQUIP gave Jeremy’s shoulders a firm push, and Jeremy was tripping his way up the front lawn towards the door just like that. Copying Michael, he walked in without knocking. He kept his face down as he stepped in, but stopped short at the flood of unfamiliar places. None of these kids went to their school—but most were clearly high schoolers. It was a high school party, almost certainly, but some other high school’s.

“Hey,” Jeremy reached out to pull on a girl’s arm as she tried to slip by him. “What school do you go to?”

“Fuckin’,” she blinked at him like it was taking her a second to remember. “North?”

An NHS party. Okay. Jeremy could work with people he didn’t know.

He turned, working through the throngs of people as slowly as he could. If he ran into Michael, he was screwed.

Jeremy pushed through the first door he could find, finding himself in the kitchen. Whoever lived here was copiously rich, and he was fully aware that he’d probably hate their guts. There were stacks of red Solo cups tipped onto the floor, and the counters were stocked with enough alcohol to kill at least five teenagers. In the backyard, strangers were screaming loud enough for it to carry through the walls and over the sound of the bass blasting from the living room. Jeremy didn’t know where Michael was, or what he was doing here. Was this because Jeremy had told him he didn’t want to go to homecoming?

Who did Michael even know from North?

Hands gripped Jeremy’s elbow, and he jumped more than a foot into the air. A peel of drunk laughter made him spin around. The girl gripping at his arm was flushed, and still laughing at him. Her yellow cardigan had slipped down one of her shoulders, and her hair was knotted and tousled. She wasn’t a North girl, though, because Jeremy recognized her from a math class last year—and from the fact that literally— _literally_ —everyone in his school knew her.

“Brooke,” Jeremy pulled her fingers off his elbow, stammering as she pushed her Solo cup into his hand in response. “Uh.”

_“Jer-e-my!”_ She shrieked, like they were good friends. “I _kno-o-o-ow_ you!”

“I--?”

“You’re fro-o-o-om my math class!” She grabbed another cup, snapping open a beer and pouring it in until it spilled over. “I fuckin’ failed that class. And _you_ didn’t. ‘Cept you’re a loser? So we, like, were equal?”

“Okay,” Jeremy put the Solo cup on the counter behind him, trying to back out of the kitchen. Faster than he was, Brooke snatched his cup up, filling it with something blue and shoving a can of Sprite towards him.

“S’a chaser,” she told him, her other cardigan sleeve slipping off her shoulder. “So, like, do you know North kids? Or, like, what?”

Jeremy knew for a fact that Brooke was able to string together a complete sentence normally. If her cheery swaying was anything to go off of, though, she’d been at this party for a while.

“No, I--,”

_Dri-i-i-ink!”_ Brooke pushed the cup back into his hands, moving it towards his mouth and tilting it.

“Jesus,” Jeremy pulled his wrist away from her hand, but drank, swallowing back a grimace at the sharp, burning taste. As he drank, the SQUIP glitched briefly in his peripherial, but didn’t comment.

“ _Fuck_ yeah!” Brooke’s hand clasped around his wrist again, pulling him out of the kitchen and into the cesspool of sweaty bodies in the living room. Jeremy knew for a fact that she was drunk off her ass and only hanging onto him because they had spoken once or twice in class, when they’d been forced to, but he didn’t find himself minding too much. If anything, being with someone else on the dance floor was less likely to get him caught than hanging out alone in the kitchen.

The music was bad, the room smelled like sweat, and Jeremy was overwhelmed to the moon and back. He drank until his cup ran out, and then slipped away from Brooke—who was busy grinding on a boy in a football jersey—to go back to the kitchen for seconds. And thirds. And fourths. And by the time he felt like ripping his shirt off and screaming, he’d lost his cup somewhere and didn’t have the coordination to grab another. The SQUIP was nowhere to be found, but Jeremy didn’t know when it had disappeared.

The cacophony in the living room was loud enough for him to feel it through his feet, and the intensity of it mixed with the Kinky was starting to make him nauseous.

He stumbled for the stairs, feeling hot in his cardigan as his drinks churned in his stomach. He pushed open the first door he came across, finding an empty, unlit bedroom. He flicked on the lights, yanking open the dresser. Then, he pulled off his cardigan and shirt, tugging out the first tank top he found and putting it on. It hung off his body more loosely than his own clothes, and the sleeve holes were long enough that he could feel the air from the fan against his ribs, but it was a nice contrast to the overwhelming heat of the first floor.

Jeremy took a second to make sure he wasn’t going to projectile vomit the second he started walking, and then made his way to the door of the bedroom.

He grabbed the doorknob at the same time as it opened, running straight into whoever was trying to come into the room.

When Jeremy glanced up, he stumbled back and stared at the boy with his squinted eyes, half sure he was just drunk off his ass and seeing things.

There stood Michael, hoodie discarded somewhere and in a black t-shirt. The bandages on his arms were wet with some kind of alcohol, but Jeremy’s eyes were glued to the red glitter painted onto Michael’s eyelids, and the eyeliner winging out to the sides of his eyes.

Michael was _hot._

He stuttered in a gasp, stepping back to give Michael enough room to step all the way in and close the door behind him.

Sober, he may have felt weird about staring at Michael with such an obvious, slack-jawed expression. Right, now, though? While Michael was staring right back at him? Jeremy made a stupid choice.

He kissed Michael.

And, instead of pulling away, Michael kissed him back. The music from downstairs sent pulses through the floor. Michael’s mouth tasted like alcohol and smoke, and Jeremy stopped processing just long enough to tumble back onto the bed, legs spilling off the bed and Michael over him. Jeremy’s hand worked its way into Michael’s hair—that he’d slicked back for the night—and messed up all of the other boy’s hard work. Michael’s fingers played with the hem of Jeremy’s shirt, and then his hand was on Jeremy’s skin underneath the shirt.

Jeremy’s hand moved from Michael’s hair to the other boy’s shoulder, pushing him back so that Jeremy could sit up, never breaking contact with his mouth. He leaned forward to kiss him harder, and when they broke apart for air, the moment ended.

Michael’s horrified expression mirrored Jeremy’s own, and they scrambled up at the same time—Michael to the left side, and Jeremy to the right. Michael backed up until he was pressing himself against the wall, while Jeremy fumbled for the doorknob. Their eyes stayed locked right up until a drunk couple stumbling noisily through the halls yanked them from their shocked, and Jeremy ripped the door open and fled to the relative safety of the halls.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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**Author's Note:**

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